Author's Note: I've had this plot bunny swimming in my cauldron of ideas for a couple of weeks now. I hesitated to post it now because I'm about to be without internet access for about 3 weeks while I travel. But it wouldn't leave me alone, so I felt I had to get the ball rolling. I think I can get a few chapters up before going off the grid, and it will be a quick finish when I get back.
Basically, I had been thinking about the triangular relationship among the Lawson men and where that might be going this season. I personally don't expect much in the way of atonement from Eddie, but I had several questions I was pondering. How would each of these men's relationships endure in a crisis, especially a crisis that is both unavoidable and no one's fault? Is Eddie truly capable of changing - will he stand up and be a man and a father in the face of this crisis where he couldn't years ago, or will he run again? I'm also trying out a different style: writing the chapters as first-person POV, alternating between Hank and Evan (I do not know at this point if I will attempt a Divya POV, or Eddie for that matter. This is really a brother story at the core). Plus, there will be some minor Evan/Divya, and the proverbial "whumping" which just about every RP story needs. :p
Disclaimer: I do not own Royal Pains, although apparently Anakin Skywalker does (just kidding! don't get me started) ;)
Hank
The day is warm and sunny, the birds are twittering in the trees, and after my early-morning run, I enjoy the peace and quiet of my solitary breakfast. These are the moments when I truly seem to be living the sweet life in the Hamptons. I honestly enjoy the comforts and perks of my new life a lot more than I would ever let on. It's hard not to, when you get to live in a great house like this and you have a job whose benefits often far outweigh the nuisances and gives you the freedom to do what you do the way you WANT to do it.
The peace is broken as I hear a thumping sound from the stairs. I believe my brother has risen at last. As he trudges into the kitchen, I raise my eyes from my newspaper and coffee. "Morning, Evan," I say cheerfully, before noticing the decidedly dark cloud over his head.
My little brother grumbles unintelligibly in response as he reaches to open the refrigerator. The suction around the door must be especially strong, because it takes a much greater effort to pull it open than usual. When it finally gives, he groans before he can stop himself, his hand pressed to his back. I see his eyes squint, and the telltale wince which indicates pain.
"Is your back still giving you trouble?" I ask in surprise. Evan has been complaining intermittently, though not directly to me, about an ache for over a week now. When I asked him originally, he had chalked it up to having to carry his own golf clubs at a recent outing with our 'father' – their usual caddy had been grounded for getting into his parents' liquor cabinet or something to that effect. I sort of tuned it out, half out of the annoyance which accompanies any mention of Eddie R. Lawson, and half out of habit when Evan starts a babbling tangent. But this strange soreness had persisted for a while, and now I am beginning to wonder if he hasn't pulled or strained a muscle. Either that, or it's a lot of show over nothing. But somehow, I don't think that's it. I can't tell what he would have to gain from such a display – he's been functioning normally, or as normally as possible. He's still been coming with me to see patients, been going golfing, been schmoozing clients at the club. It's not like he's actively using the situation to avoid something; he's not milking it. And I can feel the guilt welling up inside of me – I have been taking him at his word when he says he's 'fine;' I haven't been as proactive in monitoring his health as I should have been. As I usually am.
Evan grimaces. "It's fine, it's not a big deal." It's the same rote answer he's given me for the past week, but I don't believe him anymore, because it's clearly not getting any better.
"Ok, that tears it; let me take a look." I stand and indicate that Evan should take a seat. But immediately I see he's got his dander up.
Evan quickly backs away from me and deftly puts the kitchen island between us. "Nope. No, no, no, no. No touchy." Oh God, this again. I knew he was going to give me trouble about this – maybe that's why I've avoided examining him up until this point. I swear, he acts like a three-year-old sometimes. Most times, actually.
"Evan, I need to see your back." I say sternly, attempting to walk around the island to catch my patient. I'm not quick enough though.
"No, you don't. Nothing to see here," Evan tersely replies as he dodges back around to where I had been sitting originally. We've now completely switched places.
"You're being ridiculous. You're in pain, and you've been in pain for over a week, so sit down and let me see what the problem is!" More than a little annoyed, I repeat my attempt to approach Evan who watches me with a leery eye and once again counters my movements, like we're involved in some strange dance.
"Oh, come on, Hank!" Evan whines, not keen on having me examine him. "It's not pain pain, like, excruciating or anything. It's just uncomfortable mostly. Really, I'm fine!" This is punctuated by a slight hiss as another throb likely assails his muscles. 'I'm fine,' my foot.
"Uh-huh. Sure, and that's why you're whimpering with every step you take."
"I do not whimper…" Evan grumbles indignantly as we play another round of cat-and-mouse around the kitchen island.
Finally, I put my hands on my hips and exhale noisily. I realize I sound huffy, but frankly I don't have the time to futz around like this. "Evan, this is going to happen. You do realize that I can outrun you even when you're not lurching around like Frankenstein? So we can either do this the easy way, with you being a cooperative patient. Or we can do it the hard way, where I chase after you and take you down like a wounded gazelle, and potentially make whatever injury you have worse. Which is it going to be?"
Upon seeing that Evan is seriously weighing both options and their merits, I roll my eyes and said, "Or we can wait until Divya arrives and you can show her your imitation of a petulant child. I'm sure she'll have plenty to say about it."
Now he looks at me with narrowed eyes, trying to see how serious I am. I can tell he's also wondering how serious Divya will be, knowing she will take my side. Probably even imagining her being the one to chase after him and tackle him on the landing. Which might actually appeal to him on some level… I sigh. "You'll get a lollipop if you're good."
"Oh, fine… just wonderful…" Evan mutters as he grudgingly sits on one of the bar stools. Now that his cloaking device of seeming functionality has been breached, he knows full well I'm not going let this go. Really, it's the better choice not to go flying through the guest house with me in pursuit. He is rather klutzy, and there's a lot of expensive stuff in this place.
"Next time, I'll remember to lead with the lollipop offer," I smirk. In a way, I'm relieved. Evan doesn't like to have me overreact to minor things, but if it is actually a significant ailment, such as the head injury he sustained in Cuba, he cooperates fully right off the bat, choosing not to make things more difficult for me or for himself. The fact that he is still showing a little resistance to me is my signal that this isn't too serious, just frustratingly prolonged and uncomfortable. As I lift my little brother's grey T-shirt to see his back, he says over his shoulder in warning, "Seriously, don't hurt me."
"I won't," I reassure him, and I do a quick visual once-over. There's no bruising or discoloration, no blatant sign of trauma. But I didn't really expect there to be, if it is in fact a pulled muscle. "Where is the pain localized?"
"Kind of in the middle… more on the left," Evan responds vaguely.
"So… roughly about here?" I say, lightly pressing my fingers to the area in question.
But this causes Evan to nearly jump off the stool and hiss, "OW!" He turns to glare at me with incredulous eyes. "What did I just say, Henry? Easy with the prodding, dude!"
"I've barely even touched you yet!" I throw my hands up in exasperation. "How am I supposed to find what's wrong if I don't examine you?"
"I told you I was fine."
"Which explains the tremendous overreaction to my fingers?"
"Well, I was fine until you started poking me."
"I did not p-" I interrupt myself. No, I am not doing this, I am not going to get into this with him. I will not be distracted! "Ok, ok, I'm sorry. It's my bad. Clearly it's tender, but I didn't feel any swelling during my two seconds of actual contact with your body. Have you had any trouble urinating? Burning, dark color-"
"No! And oh-my-God-ew," Evan cuts me off, giving me a disgusted look.
"Yes, 'ew,' I know, but it's a standard question. Any nausea?"
"Nope. And that's still kind of gross."
"How's your range of motion?" I ask, ignoring him.
"Oh, fine – I can bend and stretch and all that, it just hurts like a mug."
"I'm not familiar with where 'mug' falls on the pain scale," I say dryly. "You've been taking Tylenol for it?"
"Yeah… it helps a little," he grudgingly admits, but I can see his frustration.
"A little, but not enough, right?" I shake my head again. "I think you might have pulled a muscle, and now you're having spasms. I want you to just hang out and rest today, ok? Try to stay away from the stairs, no pool, no golf or tennis, no lifting anything heavy. Stay on the couch, and put the heating pad on your back. I'm also going to give you a muscle relaxer, and then I think you should make an appointment with a massage therapist for later this week."
Evan's eyes light up. "Oh, me likey that advice! Right, so rest, relaxation, and an appointment with a gorgeous Swedish masseuse. Can do!" He salutes with mock solemnity, his eyes already dancing at the thought of an attractive therapist soothing his aching back.
"I never said she had to be Swedish. Or gorgeous for that matter."
"We're brothers, Hank. You don't have to say these things; I understood your underlying meaning. Thank you, Doctor!" I roll my eyes. Yes, Evan would be just fine.
"Hey, Evan, no 'happy ending' with that massage, please. The kink in your back is about all you can handle right now!"
"Oh, aren't you clever." I smile. Why yes. Yes, I am.
Half an hour later, after showering and dressing, I return downstairs and find Evan sprawled on the couch… awkwardly. His right leg is lifted up so that his calf is resting on the back of the couch, while the left leg has a throw pillow wedged beneath the knee. Another pillow is cradling Evan's head, and the cord of the heating pad snakes its way from beneath a tangled afghan. I can't help but do a double take as I walk through the living room. It's impossible for me to reconcile my knowledge of Evan's overall lack of flexibility with the weird contorting he's doing now… with a back injury no less. Merely walking was causing him discomfort, and now he's splayed out like a starfish. A busted starfish. Blinking, I say in disbelief, "You can't possibly be comfortable like that."
Evan barely turns his head from the television where Regis and Kelly is merrily chirping. "Hey, this is the first reclining position in over a week that has not caused me unbelievable agony. It may be unconventional, but it gets the job done."
"Here, take this," I say, handing him a small pill. "It should help with the spasms. But don't even think about driving anywhere today and don't take anything else with it. It will probably start working pretty quickly." He blindly fumbles for a water bottle that is sitting on the floor next to him and gingerly elevates himself to swallow the muscle relaxer. "No alcohol either," I add as an afterthought.
"Hank, it's barely 10 AM."
"No alcohol."
He rolls his eyes, then readjusts himself on his pillow and says, casually enough, "Hey, just out of curiosity, if I'm not better tomorrow or the next day, what happens next? What else can I do?"
"Well…" and I pause. I haven't thought that far ahead, actually. I have no reason to think that applying heat, limiting activity, and getting that massage won't help the spasms, so I have to go into what-if mode for a moment. "Well, if you aren't better in a couple of days, I'll want to check for a kidney infection, which I doubt you have since you said your urination was fine." Evan wrinkles his nose and makes a face which clearly indicates he wishes I would stop talking about urine. I don't like pee conversations any more than he does, so I continue without dwelling on it. "And perhaps I'd get you an X-ray and an MRI, to make sure you don't have a fracture or a slipped disc. Why do you ask?" I wonder, suddenly suspicious. "Is there something you haven't told me?"
"No! Geez, step away from the panic button," Evan mutters. "I was just wondering – a day off is nice, but I would rather not be laid up for too long if I can help it. There are places to go, people to see, HankMed clients to snare. Plus, I'd like to avoid any scary needle stuff or anything like that."
"So I shouldn't recommend an acupuncture session?"
"Hell no."
"Even if it's done by a gorgeous acupuncturist?" I smile, recalling his excitement at the massage therapy idea.
"Hank, I am shocked at your shallowness. I don't care how hot a chick is, she is not going to stick a bunch of little needles all over my body. No, thank you."
"Don't worry, I highly doubt you'll need to deal with the scary needle stuff."
A few minutes later, we hear Divya arrive, and I see Evan visibly brighten. She comes in with a clipped, very proper British "Good morning," though she does a double take and looks askance at Evan just like I did, raising her eyebrows at his position on the couch. "What in heavens' name did you do to yourself?" she asks him.
He gives her his special Evan grin, the one I have seen him develop and display especially for Divya, designed to drive her crazy and hopefully charm as well, and says, "Back hurts."
"Well, I am sorry to hear that, but I don't wonder, if you sit around like this all the time. There's no way that position can actually be helping your spine."
"It is, actually. And your concern and sympathy touch me deeply." He pauses for a second, then out of nowhere giggles a bit and says under his breath, "That's what she said." Oh, dear God, I was hoping he wouldn't go the 'that's what she said' route. I really should have waited to give him that muscle relaxer until we were on our way out the door.
Evan sees my expression and knows that I get the joke. He keeps giggling and Divya puts her hands on her hips and furrows her brow. "What is so funny? That's what who said?" I'm not sure if it's a dialect nuance or if she didn't hear him correctly, but surely she's not that naïve. Her consternation just makes him laugh harder, which causes him to spasm again. As he groans through his laughter, I use that moment to curtail the situation as seamlessly as I can. "Never mind, Divya. I just gave him a pain pill, he's getting a bit loopy."
"Hank, I just took it a few minutes ago – I'm not-"
I cut him off quickly before his tongue gets any looser. "Sorry, bro, we've got a busy schedule today. You'll be okay on your own for a few hours?" I realize I sound worried, probably far more so that I need to be in this situation – it is just a minor back spasm after all. But I never like it when my brother is in pain, no matter how minimal, and frankly, for all the bantering I'm doing, I still feel more than a bit guilty for letting it go on this long without my intervention.
"Of course I will! I'm not an invalid – I can still walk, you know."
"You have everything you need?"
"Yes."
"Remember, keep the heat on it, no stairs, no driving, no tennis-"
"I was thinking of rearranging all the furniture in here to get a better view of the tv…"
"No."
"I was kidding, Hank. See, this is why I don't like to tell you when I get sick because you get all angsty and turn into a big, old… hovering… hovercraft." Divya and I both blink at him, trying to figure out what the hell he's talking about. He realizes what he's said, and starts giggling again. "Wow, that made absolutely no sense. I mean, I knew it wouldn't even as I was saying it. It was like I was hearing myself, and I'm thinking, 'You goober, Hank isn't a hovercraft! He's your brother, and it's not nice to call him names.' But I couldn't stop myself and so I had to watch myself sound stupid… and now I can sort of see the air." His eyes widen a little, and I can see they're starting to cross a bit. "Huh. I guess it is working. That's a great little pill." He grins.
"O-kay… on that note, we should probably get going," I say, looking at Divya. "The sooner we get these housecalls over with, the sooner I can get back to babysit."
She smiles and says with a wink, "Actually, this is rather entertaining, watching Evan lose what little inner censorship he has. I'm half tempted to stay and watch the show before he finally falls asleep."
"Oooh, ooh Hank! Give Div-div one of those pills, see what she does!"
"Div-div?" she mouths to me.
"Right, then, okay. Bye Evan!" I wave, herding Divya out the door before Evan really embarrasses himself. I can see her lips quivering as she holds back her laughter. I turn back to offer just a few more cautionary words. "Remember, take it easy. I'll be back in a few hours, but you can call me if you need to. Okay?"
"Yes, Mama Hen!" comes the plucky reply. "Mama Hen…ry…" he adds, and then the giggling begins again.
Outside, as the door closes, Divya bursts out laughing. "Oh God. Oh, Hank, I just have to thank you – I was in such a snit this morning about wedding plans, and I was desperate for some amusement. I never thought I'd say this in any context, but seeing Evan high as a kite just made my day. My goodness," she gasps wiping her eyes. "I'm glad you pulled me out of there, I think I was about to get a contact high."
"You'd think he'd have a higher tolerance for these sorts of things," I say as we climb into her car, and we pull out of the driveway
"How did he manage to hurt himself, anyway?" she asks.
"Playing golf with Dad last Thursday," I reply, and as soon as I say it I can see her do the math in her head.
Sure enough, she says, "That was over a week ago! He's only just now showing pain?" She looks at me with incredulity. And I know I am caught, and I have to come clean.
"No… he's been experiencing it all week. I think he pulled a muscle, and it's been giving him some pretty painful spasms since then."
"Now that I think about it, he was acting rather Quasimodo-esque on the stairs of Mrs. Newberg's house a few days ago, on the way up and on the way down. But I never asked about it." By now her laughter has died away. "Oh dear, I should have mentioned it. I don't know why I didn't. It didn't even register."
"No, Divya, it's okay. I did ask him about it, but when he said he was fine, I took him at his word. I asked him more than once, and every time he said he was fine. And I let it alone."
"That's not like you. I mean, I can see you doing that once or maybe twice if he says he's fine – it's not like it was a debilitating injury, he's obviously been walking around and operating as usual. But over a week?" Divya gives me a questioning look as we roll up to a stop sign. Biting her lip for a moment, I can see her figuring out how to word the next question. "Is… is it because he was with your father at the time?"
I knew she was going to ask me that. Truth be told, I have been wondering the exact same thing. Normally, I would have examined and treated Evan much, much sooner, excuses be damned. But this time I didn't. Did I purposely look the other way on Evan's injury because he's still spending time with Eddie? It's an admittedly touchy subject for me, and I hate that that jerk has the power to turn me into such a bitter person. I have been very clear to Evan that I don't like Eddie being here, and I don't want to have anything to do with him, and I have regrettably been openly resentful of Evan's welcoming him with open arms back into his life, and into my life by proxy. Was I trying to… to punish Evan for that? I don't like to believe that of myself. The very idea turns my stomach. Evan is my life, my family; I don't like to think that I would use my brother's health as a… a means of proving a point, especially after claiming to have forgiven him for the financial stuff and the brotherly bonding we did in Cuba.
"I'm sorry, Hank, I shouldn't have asked that," I hear Divya say. I realize I have taken too long to answer, and she is backtracking as fast as humanly possible. "I never meant to insinuate-"
"No, Divya, it's fine, I understand what you meant." I smile reassuringly at her, letting her know I'm not offended by her question. "The truth is, I don't know. I have no idea why I didn't treat him sooner… I don't think it was because of Dad. I really hope that's not why."
"It wasn't, Hank," she tells me seriously. "You've been busy, and he did insist it was nothing. If it had been a real injury, you would have jumped all over it. At worst, this is just an inconvenience." She then gives me a small smile. "You do get… 'angsty' about Evan at times. I think I can understand why he would say it was nothing. He just didn't want to worry you over something so minor."
She's right. I'm sure she's right. I do overreact to a lot of things involving my brother, and this time I underreacted. Now I'm overreacting on the guilty conscience. I know Evan doesn't hold it against me. There was no real harm done in the delay to treat his back pain. And after his little chemically-induced nap which has probably set in by now, he'll be well on the way back to tip-top shape, I'm sure. He's always been a quick healer. Plus, he's got a massage to look forward to...
To Be Continued