"You're still here."
Soda startled into reality at the sound of Steve's voice. He'd been leafing through a Life magazine, reading jokes and articles and focusing on anything other than his sick best friend in the bed next to him. Steve had been asleep for nearly three hours now, exhausted from a rough night of vertigo, nausea, and pain.
"'Course I'm still here, man," Soda said, tossing the magazine aside. It landed with a heavy flop on the table next to Steve's bed. "How're you doing?"
"M'hot…" Steve offered as a reply, weakly trying to shove the blanket off his body with little success.
Soda leaned forward to help him, pulling the covers down to his ankles, trying to ignore how bony and knobby Steve's knees were. "Better?"
Steve nodded.
Soda stood up to go open the blinds to the window. When he returned to his chair, he noticed that Steve's respirator had been pushed aside.
"You took your mask off," he commented. "Your breathing okay?"
Another nod.
"How's your back?"
Steve closed his eyes for a moment and let out a deep breath before answering. "Hurts," he admitted. He opened his eyes and gave Soda a weak smile. "But I'm starting to get used to it."
"I'll get a nurse in here," Soda said, reaching to press the call button.
"No," Steve said quickly. "Please. Just…" he broke off, voice thick with emotion,
"What, man?" Soda asked, grabbing for his friend's hand.
"Just give me a minute…"
Soda swallowed hard. Steve didn't need to explain. He understood. Steve was a very private person, and Soda knew how uncomfortable it made him to have to rely on nurses and doctors, strangers, to take care of him.
Last night had been an invasion of Steve's privacy, in every sense of the idea. Steve had been very ill - vomiting, short of breath, rapid pulse, shivery, dizzy, back pain, the works. A nurse was in the room with them nearly every second of the night, desperately trying to make Steve more comfortable.
When Steve was too weak and incoherent to use the bathroom on his own, it was the nurse who helped him relieve himself in the bedpan. When Steve gagged and shook over the emesis basin, it was the nurse who cleaned it out and administered the anti-nausea meds. When Steve writhed in pain from his back, it was the nurse who applied warm compresses and adjusted his pillow.
And Soda was grateful, because all he had to do was offer his hand for Steve to hold.
Much later, when things had calmed down and Steve was resting comfortably, it was explained to them that Steve's discomfort was just his body reacting to the antibiotics - that everyone responded differently. As long as Steve's blood pressure levels remained consistent, then the antibiotics were doing their job. Soda just wished it didn't come with such a price.
Soda sighed and stroked his friend's hand with his thumb. "You remember last night?" he asked softly.
Steve nodded. "I remember enough," he said hoarsely. "I wish I didn't." And Soda knew he was thinking about bedpans, and emesis basins, and all the other humiliating things that came as a package deal with last night.
Soda cleared his throat. "You hung tough, man," he said, giving Steve's hand a tight squeeze. "You were great."
"I don't feel tough," Steve said, his voice breaking, eyes overflowing. "Just look at me, Soda."
"I am looking at you," Soda said gently. "And all I see is someone who's going to beat this thing."
Steve just sighed and turned his head to look out the window. Soda tried to ignore the tears that slipped down his best friend's cheeks.
"The rest of the guys should be coming by soon," Soda announced as a way to lighten the mood. "Two-Bit said he'd bring you some hair grease."
"Okay."
They fell silent after that. Soda released Steve's hand to run his fingers through his hair, and he silently cursed the tears that were beginning to prick his eyes. His best friend was broken - and Soda wasn't so sure he could be fixed.
He wasn't so sure Steve wanted to be.
And that's what scared him the most.
"Have you gotten any sleep at all?" Darry asked. "You look dead on your feet."
"I'm fine, Darry," Soda answered with a sigh. He set his tray down and sat heavily into the cafeteria chair.
"That's a no, then," Darry said knowingly, taking a seat across from him.
They'd gone down to the cafeteria to get some brunch. Soda wasn't hungry, but Darry had insisted. He claimed he needed to talk with Soda alone anyway. Soda assumed it was regarding Darry's visit with Steve's father - something Steve hadn't known about.
So they'd left Steve under the watchful eyes of Ponyboy and Two-Bit.
Soda took a weary bite of his potatoes. "So, how'd it go?"
Darry sighed. "Well, for starters, the missus is back."
Soda raised his eyebrows. "Really? For how long?"
"Hard to say. At least three weeks."
"Three weeks? She's been back for three weeks?"
Darry nodded. "At least."
"Gee, would've been nice for her to let Steve know," Soda scoffed, pushing his tray away. He had even less of an appetite now. "What'd his old man say?"
Darry pushed the tray back. "Keep eating and I'll keep talking," he compromised.
Soda reluctantly took another bite of potatoes.
Satisfied, Darry told Soda everything about his visit to the Randles' house. How Steve's uncle had shown up three weeks ago, how he'd sent his old man to rehab, how he'd cleaned the place up… Everything. "When I told him about Steve, he said he'd cover all of his medical bills."
Soda couldn't believe what he was hearing. For once, it sounded like things were finally going their way. "Steve's going to want to see his Uncle Gerry," he said, unable to hide the smile that crept onto his face.
"He's told you about him?" Darry asked.
Soda nodded. "He used to talk about him all the time when we were younger." He chuckled to himself. "I thought he made him up. The guy sounded too good to be true."
Darry laughed. "He is too good to be true," he said. "I mean, Steve's old man is in rehab, Soda. I never thought I'd see the day…" He grinned and reached across to ruffle Soda's hair. "Now finish eating. It's about time Steve heard some good news for a change."
"Amen to that."
When Soda and Darry returned to the ICU, any good spirits they might've had immediately disappeared. Something was wrong. There were several nurses in Steve's room and Ponyboy was anxiously waiting outside of the door.
"What's going on?" Soda demanded, peering into Steve's room to get a better look. Two-Bit was crouched next to what appeared to be an unconscious Steve. Nurses surrounded him as well.
Darry clamped a hand on Soda's shoulder for reassurance.
"He passed out," Ponyboy told them, obviously trying to keep his voice steady. "His blood pressure is dropping. They think he might be progressing into septic shock."
Soda felt his knees buckle beneath him, and suddenly found himself sandwiched between his two brothers in a tight hug.
He buried his face into Darry chest and he could feel Ponyboy's hand running up and down his spine.
Soda's world was crashing down around him, and his brothers were the only ones keeping him standing.
TBC...
