Readers, please note a warning is being posted that the content of this chapter contains some graphic descriptions, which you may find offensive. Further, there is some language contained herein, which while I deemed necessary to the story, could also be considered offensive. I did not write this to offend, but rather to depict in my view the difficulties of facing a life-changing disability. Molly

Sincere thanks to my inspirational beta, Con.

Thanks also to Kathy W for her invaluable advice.

Broken

Chapter 10

Scott had been awake for quite some time; had in fact been awake for much of the night. Although his body had been weary, his mind had proved a hive of activity, endlessly churning over the hateful argument he had had with his brother and the decision he had made.

Murdoch had come into the room at some unearthly hour; the older man's rest now regularly disturbed by the need to provide round the clock care to his incapacitated son. Scott needed to be repositioned during the night and would continue to do so until he was physically strong enough to do so himself. It had taken only a few minutes to settle him on his side, the huge hands surprisingly gentle and adept.

The blond had politely thanked his father, closing his eyes immediately making it clear he was not prepared to enter into a conversation. Murdoch had lingered beside his bed, his concern evident; he had straightened the disheveled covers, and at one point let his hand rest briefly on Scott's shoulder. That simple gesture had stirred up some unwelcome emotions. His grandfather had never once come into his room at night, not even when he had been ill. A Nanny had been paid to do that.

Yes, Harlan Garret had been a remote figure throughout his childhood, present only on high days and holidays. His fifth birthday had been one such occasion. It was the first birthday party he had had, and he still remembered it, albeit vaguely. His father had been there that day too. Not that Scott had any recollection of their first ever meeting, he had only learnt about the visit upon coming to Lancer. To think he had been so close, so close to being…claimed and to being loved; loved like a child should be loved.

He had had everything money could buy in Boston, except there had been no open displays of affection, not on his grandfather's part, nor from anyone else for that matter. No, physical contact had been a polite handshake, used to both greet and to say goodbye.

Now with his decision, he would be going back to that, to the formality, to the remoteness. It would work there. He could live there; or rather he could function there. Emotions would not get in the way in Boston. Not like they did here anyway; no his emotional outbreaks would simply not be tolerated. If Scott had learned any thing well over his years of growing up in Boston, it had been how to refrain from letting his emotions, his feelings come to light.

Taking a deep breath, Scott tried to shift himself on the bed. Rolling from his side onto his back was not so difficult, he could now manage it with a little concentration and a lot of effort, but reversing the process was still something he needed to master.

The hacienda was slowly coming to life around him, its occupants beginning to stir. The distant clatter of pots and pans told him Maria was already busy in the kitchen. He was usually up and about himself by now. Washing, shaving, dressing…preparing for the demands of the working day. Not today though. Not ever again!

Scott now accepted he would never walk again. His legs were now nothing more than a set of useless appendages, thus making him a useless appendage where the ranch was concerned…where life itself was concerned.

Sam's diagnosis had been confirmed five days ago. The second opinion coming from Dr Edward Barns, a balding, stick thin physician who resided and practiced medicine in Merced. Dr Jenkins knew that Barns had a great deal of experience in the field of spinal injuries from his work at Johns Hopkins before he had decided to come west with his family. Sam had wired him and the middle aged doctor had responded quickly to his request to visit.

Scott had been thoroughly examined, and then after a moment of silent deliberation a grave faced Dr Barns had gone on to deliver the same verdict Sam had; so shattering all hope Scott had left of making a complete recovery.

Sam Jenkins had not wasted anytime in moving things on. After giving Scott a few moments, he brought Murdoch and Johnny into the room and quickly initiated a discussion on the care Scott would need. Between them, both doctors had detailed and explained the long-term effects of his paralysis, the various complications he was at risk of developing, and the measures that needed to be taken to prevent them.

He would be prone to infection, pressure sores, joint contractures, muscle wasting…the list had seemed endless, and the care regimented and unbelievably time consuming. And now as he lay in his bed listening to the ranch come to life without him, he asked himself, just who would be providing that care, day in day out for the unforeseeable future? The question was easily answered, if he stayed here his family of course!

No. It was just too much to ask, too much to expect, and he had no intention of imposing such demands upon them. But he had no such qualms about the Boston household. Salaried, they would be handsomely paid for such an unpleasant and arduous workload.

Scott decided to take breakfast in his room; it would be the easiest thing to do. Sam was coming today, to check on his progress; best he stay where Sam could examine him with the minimum of upheaval.

Hopefully his father would come in soon, help him to do what was necessary, what he could no longer do himself. Of course, he would apologise for last night's shameful display. Hopefully his sibling would grant him the opportunity to apologise to him too. Then he would tell them both of his decision; tell them that nothing they said would change his mind.

The floorboards creaked outside his bedroom door and Scott inhaled deeply, preparing himself for what was about to take place. He had expected to see his father and so was somewhat shocked to see his sibling walk into the room.

"Morning Scott."

There was no trace of anger or resentment in Johnny's voice, only warmth, that same warmth was evident in his eyes, along with a trace of wariness.

"Good morning." Scott replied quietly. He was never usually at a loss for words, but right at that moment he found himself unsure of what to say, of how best to express his regret. What the hell was wrong with him? It was his legs that were paralysed not his mind or his tongue! He held his brother's expectant gaze, relieved when the younger man finally broke the silence.

"You ready to get up?"

"Yes." The blond responded, then watched his brother remove a shirt and a pair of pants from his dresser drawer, the brunet then holding them up for his approval. Scott nodded, not that it mattered what he wore anymore, his attire was the last thing anyone would notice about him now. They would not see past the wheeled chair he was now to reside in.

Setting the neatly pressed clothes on the bottom of Scott's bed, Johnny gestured towards the door "I'll get the hot water"

Scott watched his brother leave the room, cursing himself for letting the very opportunity he'd so wanted slip through his fingers. With just a little effort on his part he could have made things right between the two of them. Johnny had made the first move, a gesture he had truly not deserved. Scott had watched the wariness in his brother's eyes turn to disappointment, his efforts to heal the rift seemingly going unreciprocated.

But what would be the point? He was leaving, so why offer false hope of things ever being the same between them again. It wouldn't be fair.

JMLJMLJML

Murdoch had held his breath as he had watched his younger son enter Scott's room. It had taken all his willpower to stop himself from following. After last night's parting comment from his elder son, he feared the young man's reaction. Still he knew he had to give them some time alone, hoping against hope that they would put right what had gone so horribly wrong the night before.

He had remained at the end of the hallway, ready to intervene should there be a repeat performance. But there were no raised voices and just as the patriarch was starting to believe things were going well on the other side of the door, it had opened and a forlorn looking Johnny had stepped through it.

The young man had met his father's eyes and shrugged. Moving past him into the kitchen, checking the water heating on the stove, Johnny then sat down at the table.

With a heavy heart, Murdoch had joined him, "What happened in there?"

"Nothing!"

"John?"

"Nothing…he didn't seem to want to talk let alone argue." Johnny explained in a despondent tone, "I wish I knew what was going on in his head. I'd rather him yell at me than close himself off like that."

Murdoch's brow furrowed evidence of his deepening concern, "Maybe Sam can tell us where we're going wrong?"

Snorting Johnny eyed his father "Yeah well I sure as hell ain't put a foot right yet."

"That's not true. You going in there just now can't have been easy, but it was the right thing to do. I'm proud of you Johnny."

The unexpected praise sent a rush of colour to the youngest Lancer's cheeks, at the same time evoking a great urge to explain his actions to his father.

"I don't like the way things are between us now. It scares me. I'd do anything to…to put it right."

"I know. I'm scared too John, and it's also fear that's making your brother act the way he does. The world he now finds himself in must seem quite daunting a place. But we both know he's not lacking in courage, he'll fight back. We just have to give him time, and let him know we're not going anywhere.

JMLJMLJML

Scott stared at his bedroom door, beginning to wonder if his brother was actually going to return. The younger man was supposedly fetching the water needed to bathe him, but ten or so minutes later, there was still no sign of him. Maybe he wouldn't, maybe he had given up on him. He couldn't quite believe that of Johnny, but then again he had made his brother's life hell these last few weeks, and had just minutes ago, given him the cold shoulder.

He contemplated ringing the bell but decided against it. He was in desperate need of attention but they all had so much to do. Expecting them to drop everything just to attend to him was thoughtless, not to mention impractical. He would just have to wait and wait patiently, for he had made a promise to himself during the night. There would be no more temper tantrums, no more hurtful words, just heartfelt respect and gratitude. His family deserved that at the very least.

So deep in thought was he that when the door finally did open he started. His father greeted him warmly just as Johnny had done, both men equally as forgiving of his moods. His brother had followed their father into the room, bringing the hot water as promised in readiness to begin his new daily routine.

Resigned to what was to come, Scott threw back his covers and began tugging up his nightshirt so allowing his father unrestricted access to the first unpleasant task of the day. Again, the older man surprised him with his proficiency, making short work of the process of removing and disposing of the strategically placed and much detested protective cloth he now wore. He stared up at the ceiling as his father went on to clean him up. That done, he met his fathers gaze and offered him his thanks.

Time then for yet another humiliating experience! Sam had said that as he regained his strength he would also regain some independence, some perhaps, but not nearly enough. Right now he needed help with almost everything! He stared coldly at the chair in the corner of the room. It wasn't just any chair, no, it had a purpose, that purpose disguised by its fretwork back, box seat and turned legs. It was of fairly elegant design, Scott supposed, but the design did not spare his dignity.

His brother was now carrying the offending object towards the bed, seconds later two sets of willing arms were easing him out of the bed and onto it. He had a Dr Karl Crede to thank for the degrading ritual that was about to be performed and he was to repeat these procedures at regular intervals, hopefully in time it would prevent any unfortunate mishaps! Mishaps indeed, why didn't Sam just call a spade a spade and say it would hopefully stop him shitting and pissing in his pants all the time!

Once he had hopefully obliged, he was to take a bath, the warm water helping to soothe his muscles. For now, they would use the shallow tub his brother had carried into the room, until he was stronger and could be placed in a regular tub. With both, he would need to be lifted in and out. More work for his father and brother.

After the bath, he would have to be dressed, settled in his chair and no, it still wasn't finished. He was to exercise all limbs, even the two useless ones. He needed to strengthen his upper body to be able to learn to do more for himself, and in order to prevent his legs from wasting and developing blood clots, it would be necessary for his brother or father to move them for him! A short morning exercise would be done with him in the chair; a longer exercise in the evening once he was back in bed. All this was extremely important according to Sam and Dr. Barns. They both had made it clear such a complication could prove fatal…maybe…no God forgive him, he should not be thinking that way!

TBC

Molly