Alex Cabot had just finished the last case of the day- the man was found guilty, which made her slightly happier than usual- and was heading out to get dinner when her cell phone rang. Frowning slightly, she answered, "Hello?"
"This is New York Presbyterian Hospital," A woman said. "George Huang was admitted here today, and you're listed as his medical proxy. We've been trying to reach you for a while."
Looking at her cell phone, Alex saw that she had missed nearly a dozen calls in the few hours she'd been in court. Worry rose with a vengeance as she said, "Yes, we made each other our medical proxies because we don't have anyone else. Is George hurt?"
Visions of her friend being attacked in interrogation presented themselves, and she was reminded of the Brodus case. She shook the thought out of her head- she could go her whole life without remembering that again, and she wouldn't mind at all.
The voice on the other line brought her back to reality. "No, but he's critically ill," The woman said compassionately. "He has an overwhelming infection, and we've had to place him on a ventilator. He nearly died of an arrhythmia when he first entered the ER; we had to shock his heart to stop the rhythm."
Cold, numb shock washed over her. George had always been so healthy; he never seemed to get any of the bugs that went around. For him to suddenly contract a life-threatening infection… "I-I'll be right there," Alex stammered, already hurrying back to the parking lot. She hung up and, a few minutes later, reached her car.
She drove just barely under the speed limit the whole time, rushing as fast as she could through the heavy traffic. After what felt like years, she finally arrived. She paid extra for valet parking, not because she wanted it, but because it was faster; she could get to George quicker if she didn't have to find an empty spot in the hospital's parking garage.
She walked inside and to the front desk, out of breath and panting.
"May I help you?" A kind looking woman asked.
"Yeah, I'm here to see George Huang," She replied.
The woman nodded. "He's in the ICU. It's on the third floor."
Alex speed-walked to the elevator, quickly losing herself in her own thoughts. She and George had always been close; she had been one of the first to trust him, and he had responded in kind. Eventually they had agreed to be each other's medical proxies and, for all legal purposes, next of kin. Neither one had romantic feelings for the other, and the knowledge that she had a friend- nothing more, nothing less- she could trust with her life always made her feel good.
She'd never imagined that she'd have to do anything like this, though. She hadn't expected either of them to ever end up in the ICU, but if it was to happen, she would have supposed it was because he had been attacked while interrogating a suspect; never because of a potentially deadly infection.
Finally, she arrived on the third floor and entered the ICU. She sucked in a shocked breath and shuddered nervously as she took George's condition in. He looked like death, and the mere thought terrified her more than any situation she'd ever faced. George had always been small and compact, but he'd still always looked healthy. Even after the Brodus fiasco, he'd looked like he was in pain, but he'd still never given any signs that he wasn't going to make it.
But now, he looked sicker than any previously healthy person should. His face was flushed with fever, but the rest of his body was alarmingly pale. The ventilator obscured part of his face, which was covered in sweat. Even though he was unconscious, he was in pain; she could see it on every tense line of his face.
"What's wrong with him?" Alex whispered to the nurse who was checking George's vitals.
The nurse gave her a sad smile. "He has an infection that we think is attacking his heart. We don't know much else besides that though; we're just treating him with broad-spectrum antibiotics, giving him IV fluids and nutrients, and monitoring his heart rhythm and other vitals."
"Why is he in pain?" Alex asked, touching George's limp hand. His skin was scorching hot from fever; glancing at the chart the nurse had in her hand, she saw that George's temperature was over 104 degrees. That was high enough to cause delirium and hallucinations, Alex thought in dismay.
"He's heavily sedated, but there's only so much even morphine can do," The nurse said softly. "We almost had to restrain him, because he's been delirious, but his attending decided against it. He had been in and out of consciousness, but as of now, he's been unconscious for several hours. He isn't sleeping very well, but he isn't thrashing like he was earlier, either. So we'll keep sedating him and hope that his sleep becomes a little less troubled. It might be a while before he wakes up, if he does at all."
Alex swallowed visibly, taking it all in, and asked, "Is he going to die?"
"His odds are about even," The nurse said. "Once an infection starts attacking the heart, it's really hard for us to reach it to get it out- we may have to excise the tissue. But he's a fighter, and that's good; that can make all the difference."
Alex had heard that same thing many times before, however, and she knew that when it came down to it, if people were fated to die, they were going to die. Being a fighter would make a difference in some cases, but there came a point when it would do no good…
Shaking the thought out of her head, she cleared her throat to say, "Thank you."
"Call if you need anything," The nurse said.
"Thank you, uh…" Alex trailed off.
"Sally," She supplied with a friendly nod.
"Sally. Thanks," Alex said. She turned back to George and grasped his hand, gently rubbing his palm.
"What the hell happened?" She fumed to herself. George had been perfectly fine yesterday. He had looked like he might be coming down with the flu, but that was about it. He certainly hadn't looked like he was coming down with a heart infection.
She sighed softly in frustration. It seemed like George was always getting overlooked one way or another. "Hang in there for me, okay?" She asked softly. She didn't have anything else to say, so she just sat there silently, watching George sleep.
Unaware of his silent observer, the sickly man slept fitfully. Distress was clear on his face. He frowned deeply, furrowing his eyebrows. Sweat continued to cover his face as he shifted restlessly- or tried to, Alex could tell that the medication was hindering his movements- as he battled against the fever dreams. His jaw moved, and Alex knew that if it wasn't for the breathing tube, George would be making small, frantic sounds in response to the nightmare- moans, maybe, or even outright cries.
As it was, an almost inaudible whimper came from him. Alex stroked his eyebrow with her thumb, feeling him begin to relax somewhat at the contact. She didn't feel uncomfortable with the intimate touch; the need to ease George's pain was too pressing.
George's eyelids began to flutter. Alex held her breath, wondering if George would be able to wake up, or if he would be too heavily drugged to accomplish the task.
A small sound escaped him,garbled by the breathing tube. Alex realized that he was trying to breathe on his own, and was becoming alarmed at the breathing tube he found instead; his arm began to flail slightly as he tried to raise it to his throat.
Unsure if she wanted George to wake up or not, Alex sat there, continuing to stroke his forehead comfortingly; not lulling him to sleep, but not rousing him, either. But then George jolted awake, and his hand immediately went to his throat. Alex grasped his hands and called for a nurse, trying to calm him down enough to let the nurse sedate him again.
The dark figures leaned over him, forcing something down his throat. He couldn't breathe. He tried to take it out, but he was frozen in place, and nothing he did could fix it.
The figures leered at him and left him alone. He tried to cough the tube out, tried to breathe around it- but nothing worked.
He had to get it out! He fought with every cell in his body, trying to force his body to move-
George's eyes shot open. His heart gyrated and his fists jerked, striking out at whatever was nearby. He was trembling and shivering, covered in sweat. The panic accelerated and he grabbed at his throat. The tube was still lodged there- he had to get it out-
"Whoa, calm down!" Someone yelled, jumping off the chair and grabbing the thrashing man. "Leave it alone! It's helping you breathe. Calm down!" A hand pulled his own away from his throat. He turned his sweaty head and his fearful eyes finally focused.
"George, it's me. Alex. Calm down, okay?" Alex instructed.
George pointed at his throat agitatedly.
"I know. You can't breathe on your own, so it has to stay in," Alex said soothingly. She frowned slightly, and, seeing George's puzzled expression, added, "You weren't supposed to wake up for a while."
George tried to convey the sense of panic he'd felt, and finally settled for pointing at the still-racing heart monitor.
"Don't be afraid," Alex said softly, moving to embrace him. George was surprised at the gesture, but he accepted it, moving one of his jello-like arms to hug her back. "You're in serious condition, but if I know you half as well as I think you do, that isn't going to matter."
George blinked, and Alex could tell that if the doctors had told him exactly what was wrong, he could no longer remember it- probably the morphine. Morphine really messed with people, she knew from experience.
"Do you remember anything that happened?" She asked.
George gave a slight nod, pointing at his chest to convey that it had been hurting him.
"Well, they think you have a heart infection," Alex told him. George's eyes widened slightly. "I'm going to ask the nurse to get a doctor to explain more, okay?" George squeezed her hand and nodded.
Sally arrived just then and glanced at the heart monitor. "You with us?" She asked George.
George nodded confusedly, trying to remember what had happened. All he remembered was agonizing pain in his chest, blacking out on the stretcher, and then waking up here.
"You haven't really been lucid, honey," The nurse said gently, setting a hand on his shoulder. "High fever'll do that to you. I'll go ask a doctor to come talk to you, okay?"
George nodded again. The nurse left, and he sat in anticipatory silence with Alex.
The doctor walked in a few minutes later. He introduced himself, "I'm Doctor Thompson."
He began to take George's vitals and explained, "We think a bacterial infection is attacking your heart, and it's causing it to malfunction. When you first arrived, you were having a near-fatal arrhythmia. We had to shock your heart to get it beating normally."
George glanced down and saw that the skin on his chest was red and irritated, right where they would have put the defibrillator pads. He looked back up at the doctor, a silent question clear in his eyes.
"We haven't seen the arrhythmia return yet," The doctor told him, "But the fact that it's there at all is a worrying sign, especially combined with your other symptoms. We may have to perform emergency surgery if it gets worse."
George's eyes widened slightly, and the heart rate monitor sped up again. Doctor Thompson gently set his hand on his shoulder and said, "You're in rough shape, but we're going to do everything we can to treat you and identify the cause of your symptoms. We'll make sure you're okay."
George shuddered, but nodded his acceptance. He raised his hand to rub at his scratchy throat, wincing in irritation.
"We'll get you some more pain medicine," Doctor Thompson assured him. "That should help you sleep more soundly, as well, and it should take care of the transitory delirium, as well."
George shivered again and squeezed Alex's hand. She returned the pressure on George's hand and looked at George's doctor. "Thank you for explaining this."
"You're welcome," He said. He stood and walked out of the room, leaving them in relative silence while another nurse entered and began to administer some medication to George. She injected some more morphine in George's IV, and George gave an inward sigh, knowing he would drift off in a few minutes.
Alex shifted, as if to stand up, and George tugged desperately at her wrist, silently pleading for her not to leave him alone.
"Don't worry, George, I'm staying here," Alex assured him. "I'll be here when you wake up, okay?"
She set her hand on his head and stroked his tangled hair, giving a small smile as she began to untangle some of the knots. George closed his eyes, and would have sighed in pleasure if he could.
Eventually, he relaxed enough to drift off again, feeling reassured knowing that even if worst came to worst, he would at least have a friend with him.
Once George had fallen asleep, Alex leaned back slightly, scrutinizing George's appearance yet again. She knew that George waking up, even being lucid, didn't guarantee that he would make it, and that frustrated her. She wanted a sign that her friend would survive this ordeal.
She shook her head, trying to make sense of the situation again. George could die from this.
"Hang in there, George," She urged, closing her eyes.
Alex wasn't the praying type; she wasn't even the type to believe in god at all. Yet she still prayed to whatever higher being might possibly exist, a desperate plea, to spare George and let him recover.