A/N: Dear all - thank you so much for your reviews!
There were two reclining chairs in Charlie's room where the two agents had been sitting, and one straight-backed chair by his bedside. Don took the chair next to the bed and sat for a moment, while Alan went in search of water bottles. The hospital staff had given Charlie some different breathing equipment, including a mask that covered his face. His eyes were closed, and although his breathing sounded raspy, it wasn't quite as labored as before. A nurse bustled in and began medication for Charlie's IV, and at Don's questioning look, she said, "This is an anti-malarial treatment ordered by Dr. Amin." Her gaze moved to Charlie, and Don realized that he had opened his eyes. The nurse continued but spoke directly to Charlie. "This is a combination of artesunate and mefloquine. You will get this once a day for a week. Mefloquine can cause some nausea. If you experience that, Dr. Eppes, please tell us. We can give you something to help with that."
Charlie gave her a nod, and she added the medication to his IV. Don watched it go in - liquid hope. Charlie closed his eyes again, and the nurse checked his pulse oximeter. She nodded. "That's better," she said as she entered a number in the chart. "We've got him on high-flow oxygen now." She gave Don an encouraging smile as she walked out. "He's in good hands."
Don nodded at her. "Thank you."
He looked back at Charlie. His face was pale; his closed lids had a dusky, slightly blue tint to them, as if his flesh was becoming transparent. Don imagined the drug spreading through his arm into his veins, coursing through his body. "Please work," he whispered to himself. "Please work."
He reached for Charlie's hand, and Charlie opened his eyes again, just slits. "You're doing great, buddy," Don said. "They've loaded you up with cutting edge stuff - you'll be feeling better soon." He felt as though he was forcing the words out around a lump in his throat, but his voice somehow came out sounding normal. Charlie gave his hand the slightest squeeze and closed his eyes again.
Alan came in with the water bottles and handed one to Don. "These came from the nurses' station," he said. "They'll give us more whenever we want." He looked at Charlie.
Don said, "The nurse was just in to give him his first dose of medicine."
"Good," said Alan. "It's getting late. I suggest we hit those recliners and try to get a little rest. Especially you - you've had a rough few days."
Don stood stiffly. He didn't need a second invitation. A piece of him wanted to stay there and watch Charlie, watch for the medicine to do its work. Looking for a miracle, for a cure, for Charlie to open his eyes. He knew, though, that as much as he wanted it to, it wouldn't happen that quickly.
He drained half of his water and put the bottle on the floor within easy reach of his recliner. He slid into the chair and leaned back, and that was the last thing he remembered until he woke, disoriented, at a little after two in the morning.
The lights had been turned down in the room except for a bedside lamp. Alan and a nurse were bending over Charlie; they had him partially turned on his side. His oxygen mask had been removed, and he was retching weakly into a bedpan. "Ah, man," breathed Don. He sat up, wincing; his injured arm had gotten stiff and sore.
They eased Charlie back down onto his back; his face was white and covered with a sheen of sweat, lines of misery etched into his face. Alan turned and saw Don sitting up, and they exchanged a glance. His father looked tired, stooped with sadness. He came back and sat in the other recliner, and the nurse readjusted Charlie's oxygen mask, clicked off the bedside lamp, and walked out, and Don lay back and stared up into the darkness.
…..
It was a long night. Charlie woke and vomited twice more, despite the anti-nausea medication they gave him. And then at around five a.m., a noise woke Don again.
At first, he couldn't place it; then, Don realized that it was the sound of Charlie moving in his bed, rhythmic, convulsive movements… "He's seizing!" he exclaimed.
He jumped out of the recliner as Alan woke, groggy. Don dashed over to Charlie's bedside. Charlie's body was rigid, his head tilted back, eyes closed. Don fumbled for the nurse's button and turned the light on, and Alan got to the bedside just in time to see Charlie's position. As soon as the seizure came on, it left; Charlie relaxed. His eyes fluttered open, then shut. His breathing was shallow and rapid. "Did you see it?" asked Don.
"Just for a minute," said Alan, as a nurse hurried into the room.
"Is there an issue?" she asked.
"He was just seizing or convulsing. He did that when we were camping too."
The nurse frowned, reached for the chart, and made a note. "How long did it last?"
"I'm not sure. The noise he made moving around woke me up. I don't think it was too long."
"I'll make sure the doctor knows. He may need to prescribe something." She checked Charlie's temperature. "His fever is back. I'll get him something for it."
She bustled out, and Don rubbed his head. "I didn't tell the doctor about the seizure he had while we were on the mountain - maybe I should have. But I wasn't sure. It woke me up, but when I asked Charlie about it, he said he was just dreaming. But he was doing the same thing that night he just did now."
Alan frowned. "Which night was it?"
"The night before we got here. Last night?" Was it only last night? It seemed ages ago.
The nurse came back in with medication that she put into Charlie's IV. He had started to shake and murmur, and she stood back and watched him for a full five minutes until the medication took effect. The shivering and muttering stopped, and Charlie slipped back into sleep. "His fever had spiked again," she said. "I'll make sure the doctor knows. He may want to order some tests."
After that sleep was impossible, and Don went to find a restroom and then went downstairs in search of coffee. He was back in the room twenty minutes later, and at a little after six, Dr. Amid stopped in himself. "The nurse tells me that Dr. Eppes experienced seizures," he said.
Alan said, "Yes, about an hour ago."
"Just once?"
"As far as we know," said Alan, but Don interjected.
"I think he had one the night before we came here," he said. "I didn't know what it was, and Charlie woke up right after it, and said he'd been dreaming."
The doctor frowned. He bent over Charlie and lifted an eyelid and shined a penlight in his eye. Charlie recoiled and blinked, and then to Don's surprise, opened his eyes. Amid said, "Dr. Eppes, nod if you can hear me."
A slight frown knit Charlie's brow, and his eyes slid slowly over to Amid. He gave a brief nod, and Don could hear his father let out a breath. A nurse slipped into the room and retook Charlie's temperature, and she showed the doctor the result, and he nodded.
Amid gestured toward the hallway, and they followed him out. "Seizures can indicate neurological damage, which is possible with an advanced case of malaria," he said. "Seizures can be the result of a very high fever, as well. I am tending to think it was the latter in this case - his reading at the time of the episode was nearly 106, and since he received medication for it, it is dropping. It is now 102.8 and hopefully will come down further as the medicine works. I got a good reaction from him just now. That said, if the convulsions recur, I will order an EEG to be safe." He paused. "I do not see enough either way to change my prognosis. He has not changed much from last night - it is good that he has not deteriorated further, but I am concerned that we do not yet see improvement. Today will be a turning point, either way, I feel. Please call the nurse if you think that something is changing. She has instructions to inform me."
"Thank you," said Alan, and the doctor strode off. His father sighed; he looked as deflated as Don felt. Then he took a breath and looked at Don. "The coffee was great, son, but you need to eat something."
The last thing his father needed was to fret over him, as well as Charlie, Don thought. "It's okay, Dad. It's pretty early yet. I'll go down and get us something in a bit."
"No, I'll go, maybe at around eight. There ought to be something open by then," said Alan. "I need to stretch my legs."
…
Charlie woke to voices. He was aware that people were in and out of the room, but their identity and the timing of the visits were all one vague jumble, not a coherent memory. His father and brother had been there, and Charlie could hear them talking now, more clearly than before. He opened his eyes as his father said something about going to get breakfast and walked out. Don was standing there, watching him go, and then he turned toward Charlie. He must have seen Charlie looking at him because he immediately darted over and sat in the chair next to the bed.
"Hey, buddy," he said. "How are you doing?"
Charlie responded before thinking about it. "Kay," he managed. It came out as a dry whisper, as if he had a chunk of bread stuck in the back of his throat. The thought made him a little nauseous. How was he feeling exactly? Well, he was thinking a bit more clearly. He still was sick to his stomach, his head ached along with every joint in his body, but all of it was better than it had been. Don was watching him like a hungry dog, and Charlie felt a pang of regret as it came to him why he was there. "S-sorry I ruined the trip," he said sadly, but the words came out as a husky whisper. His throat was so dry, and his lips felt like rubber.
Don leaned closer. "What was that, buddy?"
Charlie paused. Nothing was going to come out right unless he could wet his vocal cords, and get the damn oxygen mask off his face. He looked at the table beside him, and Don followed his eyes. "You need water?" Don lifted a cup with a straw in it, and Charlie pulled at his mask, weakly. Don put the cup down and managed to pull the mask down. His face freed, Charlie tilted his head forward and took one sip from the straw, then two. It was enough to exhaust him, temporarily, and he laid his head back down and caught his breath for a moment, then looked at Don. "Sorry. About the trip." He tried to form each word carefully. This time his vocal cords kicked into gear, and there was sound to go along with the raspy whisper.
"Aw, Charlie," Don said. "Don't be sorry. This wasn't your fault."
But it was, Charlie thought, as his face twisted with regret. It had been his decision to take that second assignment. He could have told them no. He wanted to tell Don that, but the words were beyond him at the moment.
Don's face, oddly, was a mirror of his own, filled with remorse. "I'm sorry, too, Charlie. I'm sorry for all of the years we didn't talk. I'm sorry for not being very nice to you in high school."
Charlie frowned and shook his head. "Takes two to tango," he managed. Silence fell, and he said, "Didn't matter. Always loved you."
Tears and Don were two things that didn't go together. Even when their mother died, Don had fought them down, at least when others were around, burying emotion under a flinty exterior. He'd had a lot of practice submerging his feelings at work, Charlie suspected, because he was damned good at it. And it was probably part of his persona because he'd been that way in high school too. Cool and unruffled - angry sometimes. Don would allow anger because it was not a weak emotion. But tears - never. And he had them in his eyes, now.
"Ah, Charlie," Don said, "I love you, too, buddy." He gathered himself and managed a smile. "And I'm sorry about the trip, too. Just for the record, the first two days were awesome. When you get healed up, we'll do it again. I want to hear more stories about your wild and crazy dating life."
"Ha," said Charlie, and he smiled back.
….
When Alan returned with breakfast, he nearly dropped it on the floor. Don was seated next to Charlie, holding his hand. Charlie's eyes were closed, and Don's head was down, and his face was wet with tears. Alan's mind was crying, 'Oh, God, no,' even as his mouth was saying, "What's wrong? What happened?"
Don stood up quickly, almost guiltily wiping his face, and motioned Alan out into the hallway. "Nothing's wrong, Dad. It's good. He was actually talking." He paused. "It was - it's just - I was so relieved -," his voice broke again, and he looked at the ceiling as if in surrender. "Ah, hell."
His reaction was a measure of the strain he'd been under for the past few days, but Alan was well aware that Don wouldn't appreciate any acknowledgment of what he viewed as a weakness. So he hid his own sense of relief, clapped a hand on his son's shoulder, and said, "Well, good. Now that you've gotten that out of your system let's eat breakfast."
Don swiped at his face again and grinned. "You're on."
Later that day, Charlie was awake again and was trying to get down some ginger ale, when Dr. Amid returned, accompanied by Dr. Ceres. Amid immediately broke into a huge grin. "Well, well, look who's awake! Welcome back, Dr. Eppes!" He gave Don and Alan an encouraging nod, and that told Alan what he'd already suspected. Charlie was going to make it.