Fire and Ice – Chapter 11
Standard disclaimer applies – don't own them and I'm way too tired to think of a witty response!
A/N – Wow! This has been a very long time since I've written one of these. A thousand apologies for taking so long and a million thank yous to all of you who didn't give up hope and who have encouraged me with your lovely reviews and gentle nagging :-) I've recently moved house at the same time as work starting back up and everything colliding in my life at exactly the same time. Add to that an unhealthy dose of a lack of inspiration and that makes for very bad writing time :-( But I'm hoping for a turn-around now.
So, I really hope you like the next chapter.
The office blinds were half closed, allowing a filtered light from the hospital corridor to seep across the well-ordered wooden desk. Whichever hospital administrator the room belonged to, kept his affairs under strict control. The overhead light appeared harshly illuminating and Luke occasionally had to blink against the white light. Maybe it was fatigue more than anything else? Hell: who was he kidding? Of course it was – fatigue and stress. He had no idea how Jess was faring, nor, he got the distinct impression, was he allowed to find out. Luke sat across from the men in suits, every fibre in his being, alert yet overcome by an increasing weight of weariness. The room was suffocating, his interrogators obviously commanding their space, playing the game by their rules.
"So, Mr. Danes, I hear Jess was admitted to the hospital earlier this month?" The question seemed innocent enough, as Daryl Havers leant forwards in his chair, a clipboard of notes and files resting on the desk in front of him, just out of Luke's view.
Luke's jaw tightened but he refused to allow the anger rising in him to surface. "I'm sure that's what it says on the sheet of paper right in front of you," he responded, tightly.
Havers cleared his throat while he exchanged a quick look with his silent partner. "Hypothermia was the primary factor," he clarified giving up on the pretence for a moment. Wordlessly, Luke nodded still waiting cautiously to see where this was going. Like he couldn't guess and like he couldn't tell who was behind all of this, orchestrating it and pulling all the strings. It caused the blood inside of him to boil anew. He briefly wondered how someone's blood could both boil and freeze simultaneously yet somehow, he was managing it.
"How did it happen?"
Luke shrugged, eyes never leaving Havers' sharp, inquisitive ones. "He fell through thin ice." He paused, noting the silent William Fearson's fingers scribbling away with a ballpoint pen with every answer he gave and even in his moments of silence. "It's not like I pushed him or anything!" he exclaimed. "It was an accident for crying out loud."
"Of course," Havers agreed. His crystal blue eyes scanned the medical notes in front of him, absorbing the scribblings with a kind of disengaged interest. For the waiting Luke, the moment seemed to expand forever. He licked a finger and casually turned the page. His hair was gelled, Luke noted. Too gelled – it looked shiny and wet like a fine film of grease was covering it. Jess' hair was rarely seen without products but somehow he always made it look good – wild and uncouth at times, but good. For the thirtieth time since they had sat around that desk, Luke's thoughts tugged back towards his nephew. They'd tell him, right? They'd come and tell him if the boy took a turn for the worse?
"I take it you were given medical instructions for his after-care? To prevent any developing illness?" Havers' eyes remained on the page a moment or two longer before he returned his gaze to rest on Luke. The diner owner's jaw began to grind.
"Of course."
Havers gave a neutral shrug. "So what happened?"
"What do you mean what happened?" Luke shot back, incredulously. "He lives his own life - he's not a little kid, that's what happened!"
Havers exchanged another slight look with Fearson. "So you're saying Jess would have been entitled to better protection if he were younger?" Luke had to bite his tongue to hold back his immediate response. Instead he threw his hands up in the air.
"That's not what I said and you sure as hell know that's not what I meant."
"So what did you mean, Mr. Danes? I'd appreciate it if you could clarify. For the record, you understand."
"Why don't we talk about something else?" Luke interrupted suddenly, leaning forwards in his chair. Havers and Fearson raised a united eyebrow, Fearson's fingers scattering over the page like a swarm of insects. "Why don't we admit why we're really here?" Luke pressed, his finger pointing and gesticulating. "I may be new to the world of parenting but I have never heard of Social Services being called in when a seventeen year-old kid suffers a freak accident!"
"Like the one he had December twenty-fourth?"
Luke hesitated for just a fraction, his eyes narrowing. "Those are two completely unrelated issues and you and the Men in Black know that very well." The hand kept writing. "Don't try to confuse the issue," he continued. "Why are you here?"
Havers seemed to consider his options for a moment. "This is a routine response to a reported concern into Jess' welfare."
"Uh huh. Whose concern?"
Havers' expression remained infuriatingly calm. "I'm afraid that's confidential."
"I have a right to know who's accusing me…"
"No one's being accused of anything yet, Mr. Danes. We're just making enquiries into…"
"Ah, save it!" Luke snapped, waving them off with one hand. "This has Franklin Mariano written all over it." The hesitating look shared between the two partners was all the confirmation Luke could have asked for. God damn that man! He should have seen something like this coming. He almost slammed his hand down on the arm of his chair. But he didn't, he held himself back. Getting angry and defensive now was not the way to play this game. Not if he wanted come away from this interview not looking like a maniac.
He took a deep breath, forcing it out slowly between his teeth. His checked shirt was clinging to him uncomfortably despite the chill in the air outside. It was only then that he registered just how high the office's central heating system had been cranked. Luke tugged at the base of his navy blue cap.
He rested his head in the palms of his hands. "Can I see my nephew now?" Luke asked wearily, voice slightly muffled by his arms. Havers offered him a fractional smile which came and went unseen.
"We just have a few more questions, Mr. Danes."
Luke looked up. "I want to see my nephew, now."
"Not yet, Mr. Danes." The room got a little more frosty. They were asserting themselves now, Luke noted, pushing back. Luke spread his palms in bewildered disbelief.
"What is it you guys think I'm going to do to him in the middle of the ICU?" A knock at the door sounded. Without a word, Fearson rose to answer it. "No, seriously," Luke continued directing his comments to Daryl Havers. "There isn't another frozen lake for me to push him into even if I wanted to and I'm not going to interfere with anything down there!" At the door, a thin manila file was placed into Fearson's hands. He thanked the courier quietly then returned to his seat, handing the file over to Havers after taking a moment to inspect the contents himself.
Luke's suspicions grew. "Mr. Danes," Havers began, "I appreciate this must be a frustrating time for you but I have to ask you to be patient while we assess the situation." Then there was a pause as the man's eyes roamed the new information he had been given. All Luke could do, not knowing the contents of the file, was sit there waiting.
As it turned out, he didn't have long to wait. Something about both Havers and Fearson had changed in just the space of a few moments – a slight shift in body posture, a more precise manner in which they held themselves, poised their pens, held expressions. Luke could feel his muscles start to tingle.
"Jess was arrested today, is that right?"
Uncertainly, Luke nodded – there was no sense in trying to deny it and the arrest alone was not, he kept reminding himself, cause enough to have the kid taken away. "Why was he arrested?"
"He was in a bar. He wasn't drinking. It was…bad timing." Havers raised an eyebrow.
"You think there's a good time?" Luke shook his head, quickly, inwardly berating his stupid responses.
"No, that's not what I meant." From beside Havers, William Fearson pointed to a particular note in Jess' file. Havers took it in.
"Was this the first time he'd been there?"
Again, Luke considered lying. Jess hadn't been arrested that time - there was no record. But a chat with the barman would no doubt clear things up. Besides, lying would indicate he had something to hide. And he didn't; Luke was certain he didn't. He shrugged. "Once before. But it was just stupid - kid's stuff, you know? Teenagers try it now and then."
"I'm curious, Mr. Danes. How did you react? When Jess was arrested, knowing he'd done it before?" Havers and Fearson held him in their steely gazes from across the table, sucking the oxygen out of the room. Luke's pulse quickened and he looked away. How he'd reacted was still sitting uneasily in the pit of his stomach no matter how hard he tried to justify it to himself.
"How would you react?" Luke shot back, uncomfortably.
Without missing a beat, Havers answered: "If it were my kid? I'd be mad. Pissed off."
Luke knew when he was being led; he knew it. But what else could he do? Without knowing the game plan, he needed to find out where he was heading and the only way to do that was to reluctantly follow. Hesitantly, he nodded. "I guess."
"And how do you communicate that anger? How do you show him you're mad?"
Luke stiffened. "What do you mean?" Havers sighed and leant back in his chair.
"Mr. Danes, are you aware that Jess has suffered recent, extensive bruising to his back, sides, chest and left upper arm? His doctors estimate they were inflicted within the last six hours. Would you have any idea about those?" Luke's mouth opened in surprise. Jess was hurt? When? How did this happen? His mouth hung open a moment longer. Finally he answered:
"He…I know he was in a fight, at the bar. I mean, I didn't think it was serious. The police mentioned something about a scuffle." He looked helplessly at the two men. "I didn't know he was hurt." The words sounded lame and inexcusable, even to him. Damn it! Why hadn't he known? He didn't check – didn't even think to ask the kid how he was, even when he'd known there had been a fight.
But at the time, still reeling from his phone call with Liz and the events of the last few days, Luke had been too consumed with anger to step back and really look at his nephew. He swore softly under his breath. If he had only calmed down and stayed objective, he would have seen how sick Jess was becoming, he would have thought to ask him how he was. They both could have avoided this emergency visit. But things hadn't worked out that way.
"So you think this was done in the…what did you call it? Scuffle?"
Luke's eyes narrowed. "I know what you're implying. And no. Categorically: no. I had nothing to do with this. I have never hurt my nephew, I would never hurt my nephew."
"No matter how angry you were?" Havers interjected.
"Look, Jess could try the patience of a saint but he's my nephew, he's family, I love him and I could never hurt him. You people need to get that through your thick skulls!"
Havers nodded, thoughtfully. "Is that what you told his doctors at Christmas, too?" The question was mildly put, the seasoned care-worker used to carefully concealing any accusations in his tone. But that the question existed at all was enough for Luke. It hung there, heavy in the air between them.
Luke took a measured breath. "I'm going to see my nephew." The two men opened their mouths, Luke presumed to protest but before they could utter a word, he swooped in. "If you're going to have me arrested then you'd have done it by now but I'm guessing you're not. As far as I can see you have no paper work to keep me from my nephew, no evidence to keep me from him and as my limited legal knowledge tells me, no leg to stand on."
His companions' faces had turned decidedly sour. "So," Luke continued, "if I need to get a lawyer then you'd better tell me now because until you have something more than your overactive imaginations to back you up, I'm going to see my nephew and this interview is over."
And with that, Luke pushed back his chair, sharply, sending it flying backwards several paces. As he suspected, Havers and Fearson didn't move. His fingers on the door handle, Havers called out after him, still seated with his partner at the desk: "You'll be hearing from us, Mr. Danes." Luke didn't look back as the door closed behind him.
As Luke walked the long distance back to where he had last left Jess, his mind began to turn over and over with the news he had just been presented with. The bitter facts began to mingle with already present worries and fears. He came to the end of the corridor and pushed the button for the elevator, rocking backwards from heel to toe as he waited for the illuminating numbers to swing back down to his floor. The staircase doorway stood to the side of the elevator and he resisted the urge to burst through the double doors and take the steps two at a time until he reached the ICU.
Jess had been hurt? He'd sworn to himself, after Christmas, after Clyde he would never let it happen again. But not only had Jess been getting sicker and sicker over the last few days, but he'd also been knocked around again. The light eventually came to rest on his floor but it was still an age for the doors to open. Eventually, Luke stepped through, relieved to see there was only one other occupant of the space, an elderly woman pushing a portable oxygen tank and all but oblivious to his presence. That was good – the last thing he could handle right then was any more scrutinising.
He replayed the doctor's abridged report in his head: bruising on his back, ribs and sides? He knew nothing about it – it had to have happened in the bar. Jess must have been knocked down. Thank God nothing was broken. It was unpleasant, Luke reasoned, but not the worst thing that might have happened to the kid. The two of them had survived more.
Then he stopped. That hadn't been the only thing: they'd mentioned bruising around his arm, too. The elevator stopped and the lady stepped out. He could see the ICU sign ahead, just the other side of the door but it took the ding of the closing doors to jar him into action. Luke quickly shot a hand out, shoving hard against the closing doors until they reluctantly wheezed open again.
Numbly, he stumbled through and into the waiting area. Had that been him? His brain struggled to recall earlier that evening. He knew he'd gripped the kid's arm tightly but not tight enough to hurt him.
"Mr. Danes?" He spun around at the sound of his name. The nurse who had told him to wait when he'd first brought Jess in, was standing in front of him again. Her expression was serious but not what he would call grave. It gave him hope for Jess' prognosis.
"How is he?" Luke fired, quickly forgetting his guilt trip in favour of an update. The nurse held up a placating hand, her tone soothing.
"Jess is stable, more or less. Doctor Evans is with him now. Why don't you go through and see Jess and Doctor Evans will explain everything to you?" That was the first good piece of news that Luke had heard that evening and the relief he felt almost made him want to sweep the nurse off her feet in a crushing hug. But he didn't. Luke Danes barely hugged his own friends and family much less perfect strangers, even ones who delivered him comforting news.
She led him up to Jess' room then left him to go in alone. By the bedside stood Doctor Evans: tall, broad with thinning blonde hair. But Luke's eyes went straight to his nephew. A drip had been inserted into one of his thin arms and oxygen was being fed into him via nasal tubes. A selection of clips and wires attached to his fingers and chest monitored his laboured breathing and oxygen levels. He seemed impossibly thin and frail, his pale skin mottled with ugly bruising around his arm where the hospital gown's sleeves rode up. It caused bile to rise in Luke's throat.
"Mr. Danes?" Evan's voice was quiet, unassuming yet Luke still drew reassurance from its lack of panic. He nodded, wordlessly. "Jess has been suffering from a severe case of pneumonia and complications surrounding it. Most cases can be treated at home – it's unusual for the patient to need hospitalisation, particularly in someone as young and strong as Jess but it can happen." Luke shook his head, his hand raking gently through the boy's sweat-drenched hair.
"I should have seen this coming," he muttered, softly. "I warned him about this, I just…I didn't see it happening when it was actually right in front of me."
Evans chose to make no comment. Instead he finished checking the IV bag by his bed and moved to tick something off on Jess' chart. "When pneumonia is contracted as the result of a virus, conventional antibiotics do little to help, I'm afraid but I've started Jess on a round, just in case. The oxygen is helping his breathing and the meds should help ease the pain in his chest."
"But he'll be okay?" Luke pressed. He rested carefully on the edge of Jess' bed, mindful of dislodging wires and tubes, the young man unaware of his proximity or touch.
Evans smiled. The expression almost appeared foreign and out of place on the medical staff Luke was prone to meeting in that hospital. "I'd like to keep him in for a few days – anything up to a week - monitor his condition, make sure his breathing improves on its own. Jess is a strong young man so I have no doubts, given rest and medication that he'll fight this over time." Then he seemed to hesitate for a moment as if weighing up a decision. Luke watched him out of the corner of his eye, torn between monitoring Jess and the doctor's responses. However, whatever he was going to say, Evans apparently thought better of it because he merely stepped towards Luke and offered his hand for the man to shake.
Relieved, Luke took it, firmly. "Thank you, doctor."
"I'll leave you two alone for a little while. I can't give you long, though. Jess needs his rest." Luke nodded and glanced back at the still form on the bed.
"Has he woken at all?" Evans consulted the chart then looked back at Luke.
"He's had brief moments of awareness but his body is craving sleep. I'd expect him to be out for the count, if I were you."
After thanking Evans again, Luke distractedly watched him leave then resumed his tentative seat on his nephew's bed. Without the conversation provided by the doctor the silence surrounding the boy was almost too much to take. Carefully, the older man took one of the teenager's hands in his own and began to absently run a calloused thumb across its surface.
"I know you're awake, Jess," he stated, quietly. If Jess heard him, he gave no outward sign. Luke wasn't sure what he had been expecting, or even hoping for. "I've known you long enough to know the signs," he continued, a fond smile playing on his face. "But it's okay," he assured him, quickly. "You don't have to talk. I just…I just need you to listen to me, okay Jess?" He waited but Jess remained still, lying prone beside him, apparently dead to the world. Had he felt the boy's muscles twitch in the hand he held? Luke couldn't be certain.
He took a deep breath, surprised and perhaps a little dismayed to feel it rattle and shake. Had Jess heard it too? "I'm sorry, Jess. I'm sorry about everything. About tonight – or last night, whatever it is now. God, what's the time? It's so hard to keep track in this place. They could do with some windows, you know? Some natural lighting." He watched the slight rise and fall of the boy's chest and his grip on his nephew's hand gently tightened.
He felt his eyes suddenly sting with tears and bit his lip to keep it still. "Tonight," he continued. "It was a mistake. I shouldn't have lost it with you and I'm really, really sorry. I should have asked if you were hurt in the bar. I should have seen that you were sick, really sick and I will always kick myself that I didn't. There's just been…a lot of stuff going on recently. That's not an excuse…I just want you to understand."
Again, breath held in his throat, Luke waited watching Jess' face for any sign of communication. That Jess was awake, Luke was certain. That the teenager was ready to talk to him, he wasn't so sure of. But he would, eventually, Luke knew. Jess just needed a little more time to calm down, to process things. And after all, he reasoned, the kid was sick and exhausted. He'd let him rest, give Jess the time and space he needed.
Leaning down, Luke placed a kiss on the kid's forehead. If the boy was going to play dead, that was just the price he was going to have to pay to keep up the pretence, he decided with a half-hearted chuckle. He stayed that way for a moment, head leaned in close to the kid's. "Sleep well, Jess," he whispered. "I'll be here when you're ready to talk to me."
Luke left Jess as he had found him – sleeping, or at least pretending to be. He was exhausted himself. For the first time that night, he wanted to call Lorelai, to hear her voice. Jess could use some new company. Perhaps he could persuade her to bring Rory down? That would certainly cheer the kid up and Luke liked to believe that Rory would be concerned enough for his nephew to want to come see him.
He knew where the payphone was by now. He knew where every vending machine was, every water fountain. This hospital was becoming like a second damn home! And as he stumbled off, bleary-eyed and heavy-hearted to make that call, he never noticed that the crumpled letter from New York had, somewhere, fallen from his pocket. Nor did the night nurse who came to check on Jess notice the crumpled, folded letter he had tucked beneath his blankets.
Okay. Done for now. I'm sorry if this chapter doesn't exactly 'flow' from the previous one but I had to get something written down or the story was just going to linger in my head forever. I'm trying really hard to get my inspiration back for another chapter but any encouragement you could give would very much be appreciated :-)