I do not own Hawaii Five-0 or any characters. No copyright infringement intended.
Notes: sorry for the delay ... new chapter(s) are taking time to incorporate.
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Chapter Fourteen
"Doc? Danny?" Steve was downright scared as he lay stranded on his back on a gurney in the emergency room. He was looking up at the doctor in askance, at the whim of even more medical staff as they catered to his needs. Resentful and annoyed by the attention, Steve groaned under his breath. His frustration obvious and only growing when Ramirez didn't reply.
"What the hell's happening to him?"
He was in triage next to the small curtained area where Danny had been wheeled in just a few minutes after he'd arrived. Ponch had his hand twisted in the front of Steve's shirt as if he might try and actually get up and bolt for freedom, but it was unnecessary. One look at the younger man was enough to know that he'd be incapable of doing more than he was doing at that very moment. Lying on his back and occasionally grunting in discomfort, Steve was speckled by a sheen of pain-related sweat. The soreness in his leg had become an unbearable throbbing ache. As a result, his complexion appeared to be permanently ashen, his skin shining damply and cold to the touch.
"Doc?" Steve asked again, his voice breaking to end on a tight, dry cough. He was indeed scared as he stared spellbound to his right. Personal aches and pains momentarily pushed to the side, Steve didn't want to admit that he understood what he was seeing. Discussions were running strong about needing to intubate his friend just a few feet away. Horrified, Steve helplessly watched as Danny's body stiffened with an abnormal rigidity.
Unable to look away, Steve's view was often obstructed by a sea of white and blue clad figures which flittered busily around his best friend. He barely registered the blurred colors of movement though as he caught sight of Danny's right arm which was twitching repetitively. A twitch which was more that of a frightening shake despite the unyielding tension of his corded muscles down to his fingers. The hectic activity was overwhelming, nurses and doctors rushing to and fro, the privacy curtain swaying constantly as people pushed by each other on a focused mission. And yet Steve only saw that one arm, Danny's fingers clenched in a white-knuckled fist.
"Ponch ... please," Steve begged desperately as the tattered remains of Danny's pants fell to the floor only to be kicked under the gurney. "Is he okay? What's happening?"
With that last shred of decency, Danny had been entirely stripped of his clothes only to be draped with cold, cooling sheets. Separated from his friend when he'd just been waking and combative, what Steve was seeing now was entirely unexpected and he was more than scared. Now, Steve was petrified.
"Danny's seizing," Ponch finally replied. He tried to say the words calmly, yet there was no way to avoid his own stress as he stated the plain facts. With one hand wended tightly within the fabric of Steve's t-shirt, he was poised on his toes and avidly watching what he could of the second team's actions as they worked at stabilizing the detective's abused body. He could feel the vibration through his hand though. A combination of pain and a very real fear emanated from Steve, but there wasn't much more he could say to calm the man's mind. Ponch simply didn't know. No one in the ER knew a damned thing yet about Danny's overall condition as they fought to stabilize him.
"We got him out though," Steve argued. "We were cooling him down ... it was working ... he woke up ...!"
"No. He didn't really," Ponch interrupted softly, his correction delivered as kindly as possible. "He was delirious, Steve. He's hyperthermic ... and while what we did helped, his core temperature is much too high right now and they have to get it down. He's seizing because his temperature spiked back up as soon as we stopped ... it soared in the ambulance on the way here. He's seizing because he's simply too hot."
As the seizure abated and Danny was indeed intubated, Ponch turned back towards Steve and immediately disapproved of what he saw. Regardless of Steve's ongoing distraction over his partner's state, the younger man was in incredible agony. The evidence of a very real physical pain filled Steve's eyes and he was breathing quickly, but much too shallow. Ponch glanced up, worry growing as he read a blood pressure reading which was very low; in fact, none of Steve's vital signs were even near optimal levels. Newly focused on Steve's medical team's activities, the big doctor read the same concern in the attending physician's demeanor, along with a bit of confusion.
"What's wrong?" Ponch inquired, his hand now splayed almost possessively over Steve's chest. "What's your assessment? You seem troubled."
"Not entirely sure to be honest," the attending admitted with a thoughtful shrug. "Vitals are depressed. His leg is extremely tender and he's in significant pain. He's also much too pale ... actually even down to his foot ... I'd say that the blood flow in his leg seems to have been compromised."
"How do you feel?" Ponch demanded of Steve, his hand tapping a discordant rhythm on the man's chest. Looking at Steve with an astute eye, the pale nature of his skin tone was telling of a larger problem. "And be honest because right now, Steve, you look like shit and it's not the time to pull any heroics. This is serious ... how much pain are you in?"
Steve opened his mouth, then clamped it shut as an unfortunate touch along the skin of his thigh nearest the bullet wound sent a flare of agony through the entire limb. He groaned deeply in his throat as another gentle touch sent tendrils of fire into his body. His mouth flew open as he panted hard, losing his battle in fighting another grunt of pain.
"Shit! Leave ... it alone," he wheezed, his hands flailing towards those that kept almost mercilessly poking and prodding. "Just ... leave ... yeah, okay ... it hurts. A lot."
Unable to get a grip on controlling his breathing, Steve shook his head as a flurry of conversation convened over his head. He screwed his eyes closed as the softest of touches uncoupled his ability to remain quiet. Hissing under his breath to argue another pained moan, Steve fisted both this hands in frustration as an oxygen mask was fitted over his nose and mouth. He panted loudly into the mask, vainly trying to draw in enough oxygen to clear his head. Another pained sound escaped him anyway despite his best efforts when his knee and foot were examined with a diligent care. Suddenly powerless to cope, Steve felt a cold sweat building across his brow while even more trickled unrelentlingly down his back. He simply felt terrible and his leg was making itself known in ways he hadn't thought possible.
"Danny?" Steve slurred as his unease swelled. His voice was muffled and wracked with pain, yet he knew he'd been heard as Ramirez almost patronizingly patted his shoulder. He was sick, but Danny was so much worse and he shook his head again in denial when the doctor merely tapped his chest, his ongoing query clear. Unhappy about the attention, Steve peered up into Ponch's face, his jaw set to argue. He failed entirely though under the doctor's adamant glare.
"Steve? I need details. How do you feel?" Ponch prodded determinedly. "When did your leg start to hurt this badly?"
With only Danny of tantamount concern, Steve hadn't anticipated this change as everyone who circled his gurney waited for an answer. His eyes skidded from the stern look on Ponch's face over to that of his own dedicated ER doctor. This younger doctor wasn't much different from Ramirez as he waited for Steve to reply. However, Steve's attention was drifting again, his ears perked towards the curtains separating him from Danny's anxious medical team.
"How is he?" Steve whispered stubbornly. "I ... is he ... all right?"
"Danny's in very good hands," Ponch soothed, but his expression turned surly when he saw the continued distracted look in Steve's eyes. " ... and so are you, if you'd cooperate. So tell me, how do you feel, Steve? The truth. Now."
"Awful," Steve eventually pushed out, teeth now clenched as the attending doctor, Simms according to his blurry identification badge, continued on his gentle investigation of the wound. Steve swallowed thickly, nausea rising as he really considered himself. He didn't need to see what his doctors saw to know that he was truly sick and likely in a load of trouble. He'd also be no help at all to his partner or team if he continued to ignore what was now a worrisome rise in his own woes. Whatever was happening to him certainly wasn't normal and he could feel that truth with every pulsating beat of his heart. Steve didn't need the doctors to confirm those facts as a wave of dizziness made him briefly close his eyes.
"What's wrong?" Simms asked as he saw the further ill change in his patient's complexion. "What just happened, Commander?"
"Hurts ... and there's ... no ... scale for it," Steve hissed quietly before Ponch could ask him to jump through even more hoops. He had to be honest now because he couldn't remember precisely when he'd ever hurt so very much. The room swam and banked sharply left even though he was flat on his back. Eyes pinched shut, Steve couldn't help gasping at the strange flux of vertigo. An inhale turned into a spate of broken puffs into the oxygen mask which literally did nothing to ease the sensation either. Brow furrowed in misery, Steve's hand shook as he blindly tried to wipe the sweat from his forehead, a throat-clicking convulsive heave barely keeping a knot of bile inside his chest.
"What else?" Ponch asked, close to his ear, his shaking hand now enveloped in the elder doctor's strong grip. "Steve? Come on, son. What's going on?"
"Dizzy, nauseous ... and I'm really ... tired," Steve whispered, his voice slurred and husky. "What's ... what's ... wrong with me?"
He licked his lips, his distress growing in spades. What he wanted to do - where he wanted to be - so far out of his reach as his body completely rebelled. There was a pause over his head and Steve peered up, his eyes teary and wet. But his vision was hazy and the lights in the ER suddenly much too bright for him to cope with. Still, he squinted upwards, trying to read their expressions until giving up with another pained groan as fire lanced into his lower back.
"Blood clot?" Simms questioned his older peer. Retired or not, Simms liked Ramirez and valued his opinion. But he twisted his lips thoughtfully when Ramirez frowned while carefully testing the tightness of the skin on the Commander's injured leg.
"When did you start to experience this level of pain? When?" Ponch asked to clarify one more point for his own growing conclusions. He wasn't looking at Steve's face now. Instead, he was concentrating on what he could feel under his skilled fingers. "It's important, Steve. Around when did your pain level begin to increase?"
"Not ... sure." Eyes welded closed against the bright lights in the room, Steve weakly shrugged, wincing as even that small motion sent a ripple of dizziness into his head. He dimly considered his home, the sunny kitchen, and the view of his yard. Feeling more sick to his stomach when he recalled seeing the damnable storage container for the first time. His race outside and then, the subsequent pain in his hip.
Danny. Ashen. Lifeless. Left to die under their very noses.
"Back at my place ... when I was by Danny ... the storage container," Steve wheezed around a plaintive whine. "My ... place."
"So, right after you tried to use your leg," the big doctor clarified much too blandly, a sign which clearly indicated his worry. Lips pursed tightly closed, Ponch glanced towards Simms and shook his head, a heavy sigh on the heels of his next words. The original bullet wound had been serious enough and for Steve to have been moving so actively and flexing his leg, the stress factors on healing tissues was becoming apparent to him.
"Too soon ... much, much too soon. Circulation's been compromised ... not a blood clot though."
"Pseudo aneurism? Compartment syndrome?" The two doctors uttered the words simultaneously, only Simms snorting in a type of amusement. In fact, Simms mentally congratulated himself as he earned a complimentary nod from his elder peer. The prognosis was becoming potentially more apparent as his patient's symptoms were astutely clarified to support some type of internal hemorrhage.
"He needs an ultrasound to confirm what we're dealing with," Simms countered before throwing orders towards his team. "Let's get that done stat. Depending on the results, we have a few options to stop the internal bleed."
"Internal ... what? Bleed?" Steve croaked in alarm despite his voice being so badly muffled, his eyes flying back open. He searched out Ponch's face for confirmation, a rise in fear twisting his stomach into knots. "Surgery?"
"Not necessarily," Ponch comforted him as he backed away for Simms' team to continue their work. "There's other options like Doctor Simms is considering ... first things first, son. Let them take care of you ... I'll be here. I'll try to help where I can."
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"How bad are they?" Chin asked. Keyed up, his usually serene expression, was lined with an unfamiliar level of stress brought on by worry and an increasing period of restlessness. "What happened to Steve? How bad is Danny ... and Steve?"
He'd just explained to the doctor that Kono was on her way to the airport, with supportive HPD units and airport security on high alert. They'd been completely blindsided and caught unawares, now they were trying to divide and conquer. Their injured team mates would additionally be protected within the walls of the hospital. Plus, he and Kono had agreed that at least one of them needed to speak to Steve in person. But not once during their rapid collaboration had either thought their boss incapacitated.
Ponch wearily dragged his hands down his face, a heavy sigh partially obstructed on the way. He had followed the second ambulance, just a few minutes behind the one which held Steve and the crew caring for the ailing man. Though he was retired and not exactly either man's personal physician, he didn't know which way to turn now that he'd been ousted from Steve's side. He was used to action and being involved from start to finish, giving orders and being minded. Relegated to a proverbial back seat even by the understanding Doctor Simms, he could only clench his fists in frustration as he paced in the waiting room.
"Bad," he finally answered. "Steve's undergoing a few tests to assess a possible internal bleed. And Danny's suffering from hyperthermia - heat stroke, dehydration. His body temperature was well above normal at 104 when we pulled him out of that damned storage box ... it was still just over 103 when the ambulance arrived and he had a seizure en route. Another ... here. They've been working on trying to stabilize him since his temperature is hovering around 102 or so now ... while it's coming down, he's not out of the woods."
"What?" Chin rocked his jaw at the sobering news, first stunned by where Steve and the doctor had almost accidentally discovered their friend. Aghast now as he was given even more of the details.
"I'm ... sorry? A seizure?" Chin repeated dumbfounded, his voice monotone. "You said ... seizure?" He blinked in disbelief, a slow shake of his head asking if he'd actually heard wrong. But instead of negating the concerns, Ponch merely added more information to carry import.
"We tried to cool him down after we got him out of that damned thing," Ponch explained quietly. "Cool water ... gentle pressure using a basic garden hose ... it worked for awhile. He roused just a bit, but he was off ... confused and disoriented. He immediately became combative and though we tried, the water and subsequent ice packs weren't nearly enough to bring his body temperature down. So once we stopped ... once he was loaded into the ambulance, his core temperature re-spiked ... bounced right back up ... and he's seized twice."
"Doc? But ...," Chin's voice trailed off as he lost his train of thought. He wasn't even sure what he wanted to know by that point as he nervously scrubbed his hand through his hair.
"They're still working on getting Danny's temperature down and stabilizing him," Ponch said. "Ice-water soaked sheets will eventually bring down his core body temperature. He's on medication to depress his body's natural inclination to shiver since that will only generate more heat. Oxygen of course, too. Nonetheless, he's going to have to be aggressively monitored ... organ damage is a real concern here ... especially damage to his kidneys."
Chin chuffed a worried sound under his breath, his expression thoughtful. He filled in the gaps which Ramirez hadn't put to words. The very real concern not only of organ damage, but also failure. The potential for Danny not to recover from this attack. Nothing had prepared Chin to learn that both of his friends were now grievously injured. He briefly closed his eyes in concern and took a deep breath in a vain attempt to corral his stampeding thoughts, easily reading the retired doctor's worrisome body language. The almost comical bounce, the jittery wave of a hand, followed by the unconscious habit of looking for deep lab coat pockets which he no longer wore. All of the cues indicating trouble.
"Steve? He's ... what? An internal bleed? How the hell could that even happen?" Chin dared to finally ask after the big doctor grumbled unhappily under his breath, his gaze locked onto a second curtained triage area. Without looking in the same direction, Chin didn't need to know that it was Steve who had now captured Ponch's thoughts.
"What the hell happened? I'm not sure I understand. Steve ... he only just got released a few hours ago!" Chin objected. "What are they doing for him?"
But before Ramirez could answer about concerns related to an internal bleed and what options they might employ, a childish shout carried down the short hallway. The two men turned together, Ponch now murmuring a disgruntled sound deep under his breath when he saw his niece.
"Uncle Ponch!" Becca was holding her Aunt Ellen's hand, only kept from running to him in the busy area by her Aunt's tight hold. Her eyes were tear-filled and her cheeks pinked by sadness. Something more had happened and he scowled unhappily towards his wife.
"I had to bring her," Ellen quietly explained as her husband scooped their niece into his arms, a questioning look in his eyes. She murmured an apologetic hello towards Chin, her desire to know more about both Danny and Steve needing to wait as she dealt with yet another priority. Her husband had called her as he followed the ambulances to curtly say where he would be and why. As a friend, she was worried about each man, not to mention her professional tendencies as a nurse. He knew without a doubt that she'd want to know what had happened. Not so selfishly, he'd also wanted her with him as an additional qualified advocate for each of their friends.
But she'd no opportunity to counter his rapid-fire demands nor tell him about his brother's sudden departure. Torn by indecision and her niece's tearful pleas to see her uncle, Ellen had opted to bring Rebecca with her to the hospital.
"Mike's catching a flight out to L.A. Now," Ellen blurted out, her words causing Becca to tuck herself into her uncle's neck, a sob breaking free from the little girl. "He's decided to continue with finalizing the contract. He said something about the CEO being in L.A. and the meeting being critical to his future."
"Now?" Ponch sputtered angrily, his train of thought derailed as his wife stared meaningfully at him. "He went to L.A. now?"
Nearly strangled by Becca's arms, he needed to mind his temper. Instead, of saying more, Ponch chuffed in disgust as he whirled in place. With Chin by his side and Becca in his arms, his mind was forced to cycle through far too many issues at once.
~ to be continued ~