Carter shivered on the ground, wrapping his arms around himself as tightly
as his broken body would allow. The shaking sent painful vibrations through
him, jostling his destroyed ribs. Benton had warned him against getting up,
not that he really could. He was having a hard enough time taking shallow,
unfulfilling breaths, let alone attempt standing up, unaided. He closed his
eyes to block the nauseating double images he was seeing. Another
symptom of concussion, he mused. The pain was overwhelming, and, unlike
his previous injury, he couldn't make himself slip into unconsciousness.
When he tried to focus on internal thoughts, his mind drifted back to the
incredible throbbing that threatened to overtake him. All that he had left to
concentrate on were the loud, angry voices, engaged in a heated discussion a
few feet away.

"Peter, you know we have to move him, and disagreeing in front of Carter is
not going to put his mind at ease," Mark told the defensive surgeon.

"You want to talk about ease? How are we supposed to get him to the
vehicle? He has to stand and then walk the entire way there. It's gotta be at
least a mile. No matter how much we help him, he's not going to be able to
remain upright the entire time. We..."

"He's going to have to, we don't..."

"Don't cut me off, Dr. Greene!" Peter responded angrily. Peter fixed Mark
with an intense stare that clearly communicated his intolerance for
interruptions. Satisfied that the other doctor understood the message, he
went on. "I am well aware of the effects of hypothermia. That water is not
cold enough to put him in deep shock. I'm sure his core temperature is way
above 97 degrees. That's safe. Moving him a great distance however, isn't,
and will probably cause more damage. We don't know the extent of his head
injury, and moving him around could aggravate a severe concussion, you
know that." Peter's voice was stern and firm, and he hoped Mark would
realize that he was correct.

"I appreciate your surgical opinion, Peter," Mark said, putting a slightly
sarcastic emphasis on "surgical." "The problem is, we don't know anything.
He could be suffering cold shock; you know that can be the result of
immersion in cold water. That could cause hyperventilation, which in turn
might affect his broken ribs. We need to get him out of the street and into
some warm clothes. Walking will help his circulation, and we can treat him
better in the van until help arrives." Mark's words were spoken with
calmness and determination.

"We'll move slowly and carefully to safer conditions. Now, rather than
arguing over things out of our control, let's work on a situation we can do
something about." Mark turned around and started back towards the injured
man.

Carter listened carefully to their heated debate. As a doctor, he understood
each man's opinion on the matter. Each option was not very desirable, and
each one had its own set of problems. He didn't know whose side to take, but
in the end, it probably didn't matter. It was going to hurt no matter what they
did, and he rather be in the warm van than this cold, numbing puddle of
water. His clothes were completely soaked through, and pressed down on his
battered chest like an iron weight. He didn't know which was worse, the
creeping numbness in his limbs, or the horrible pain emanating from his
head and chest.

He opened his eyes when he felt both doctors kneeling beside him. Mark's
concerned face was in direct contrast to Benton's angry scowl. Two
expressions he was used to receiving, he mused unhappily. Just not in these
circumstances.

"Carter, we're going to help you into a sitting position," Mark said gently.
"After you're acclimated, we're going to help you stand."

"I-I know. I can do it. I-I'll b-be able to walk." Carter looked to Mark, and
then to Benton. "W-w-with some help fr-from the two of you."

Mark slid one hand under Carter's shoulder, firmly gripping it with the other.
He nodded to Peter to do the same with the injured man's other side. Peter
grudgingly placed his hands in the same fashion as Mark's.

"We'll lift you halfway; help you sit up," Mark told him. "Okay, on three.
One...two...three." Both doctors gently lifted Carter up, carefully supporting
his shoulders. Mark kept his hands behind Carter's back, while Peter moved
his left hand to the doctor's chest to keep him from falling over.

The movement took his breath away and he wrapped his arms around his
body to steady himself. He waited a few seconds, then slowly opened his
eyes. His vision was a little clearer, but the fire in his head had returned with
a vengeance. It was as if all his injuries were competing for his attention.

"Carter, just give it a few seconds," Mark said warningly. He kept one hand
behind Carter's shoulder, and with the other grabbed the jacket that had
slipped off, awkwardly attempting to wrap it around him.

"It's alright. I-I think I can stand up now," Carter said in a weak voice.

"Carter, just rest a minute, we're not in a rush," Peter reassured him, glaring
at Mark.

"Let's...just get it over with, it's freezing out here," the doctor whispered.

Carter gathered all his strength and began to stand. Both his companions
held him underneath his armpits, just in case he couldn't make it all the way
up. Carter was very unsteady on his feet, and wavered for a few seconds
before Benton steadied him. Mark took Carter's left arm and draped it over
his own shoulders so the young man could lean on him.

Carter ached all over. He put most his weight on Mark, and wrapped his
right arm around his middle. Benton kept one hand behind his back and the
other on his elbow as he led him forward. Carter slowly dragged his feet in
an approximation of walking and they inched their way up the road. His
lungs screamed for more air, but all he could manage were short, shallow
breaths. His head felt like someone was taking a jackhammer to the inside of
his skull. The pounding was increasing in strength and intensity, and he used
it as a rhythm for his feet. Left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot.

``````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````

After twenty painful minutes, the trio was still diligently forging ahead. It
had had taken ten minutes to walk from the van, but a lot had changed since
then. Now, their destination seemed to move farther away with each step
they took. Carter's headache increased with every awkward step, and it was
taking its toll on the rest of him. He was putting more weight on Mark, and
was beginning to lose his sense of equilibrium.

Sensing that Carter was losing his balance, Peter tightened his grip on his
shoulder. "Hey, Carter let's slow down. The van is only a little ways down
the bend."

The group slowed their pace as the rain continued to pour down on them.
Carter was beginning to feel very sick to his stomach as the dizziness
increased. Suddenly, a wave of nausea crashed over him. "Hey, stop!" he
said with urgency.

"What's the matter, Carter?" Mark asked with concern.

"I'm going to be sick," he managed as he bent down and let the nausea took
over.

"Easy, man, let us help you," Peter said. Both doctors lowered him gently to
the ground as the younger man began to lose what little contents were left in
his stomach from lunch. "Try not to strain yourself," Benton remarked,
noticing that Carter was throwing up nothing but bile.

"It's the concussion, Peter," Mark said rhetorically, as Carter to crumble to
the ground, exhausted and in pain. Mark slowly rubbed his hand in circles on
Carter's back to try to calm the tremors that rocked his young colleague's
body.

"I told you this wasn't a good idea," Peter stated simply. Mark just knelt next
to Carter in silence, waiting for him to recover enough to continue.

The retching had destroyed what little strength he had left. Carter was
miserable, and his chest was on fire. The strains of being sick seemed to rip
him apart from the inside. Breathing was becoming ridiculously laborious.
How had the simplest function of the human body become the hardest thing
in the world to accomplish?

"I can't go on." His voice broke with pain and defeat.

"Yes, you can. It's just around the next bend. Then you can rest, and warm
up, and we'll get help." Mark knew his words sounded hollow and
unencouraging, but they were so close! He didn't look at Peter, whose eyes
must have been smoldering with anger.

"No, I can't," Carter responded wearily.

"Carter, since when do you back down from challenges? Now that van is
only a few steps away and you are going to get there. You understand me?"
Peter added firmly.

It was that voice again, challenging him to overcome another obstacle.
Carter had spent six years of his life trying to prove his mettle to Peter
Benton, and he would not give up on that tonight. He wiped his mouth with
his rain-drenched sleeve, and nodded to let them know he was ready, not
wanting to waste his energy on speaking.

Carefully he was helped to a standing position once again. Both men put an
arm around his waist and they continued their trek to the inviting warmth
and safety of their broken down vehicle.




Mark's van was a welcome sight to all three men. It was apparent that Carter
was ready to collapse; he was basically dead weight in their arms. Mark
opened the back door and both men carefully lowered Carter onto the seat.

"We're going to keep you sitting up so we can get those wet clothes off, and
then you can lie down," Mark said as he reached over him to scavenge for
something for Carter to change into. "Is your suit jacket in the front seat,
Carter?" Mark asked the shivering man.

"Yeah Think so."

"We need something more than his suit jacket. Do you have any other
clothes in here?" Peter asked as he checked Carter's pulse again. It was
getting a little faster. He frowned anxiously.

"Yeah. We need something warm; fleece or wool maybe," Mark called from
the front seat. "I found his jacket. Doesn't look too warm, but it's better then
nothing." Mark used his penlight to search the dark car for clothing. He
shoved newspapers under the passenger seat out of the way, and came across
one of his white T-shirts. He checked underneath the driver's seat, finding
some dirty sweat pants, probably stashed there after a long run. He crawled
back to the other two men with the clothes that he'd found.

"Pulse is up to 100. When we get him dry, I'll re-examine him," Peter said,
moving out of the way. "I'll get your medical bag while you help him take
off those wet clothes." Peter got out of the car and walked around to the
other side to find the much needed medical instruments. He avoided Mark's
confused look, as he was left to the task of helping Carter change.

Mark sat next to Carter, who was resting his head against the inside wall of
the van. His eyes were closed, and he appeared to be oblivious to everything
going on around him. His face was seemed contorted with lines of pain.
Some people just never get a break, Mark thought sadly.

"I'm going to remove your shirt and pants, Carter. Try to help me if you
can." Carter nodded vaguely. Mark slid his suspenders down, unbuttoned his
dress shirt. He didn't want him to have to lift his arms above his head to get
his undershirt off, so he called for Peter to give him the scissors from the
medical bag.

Peter rummaged through the medical kit, finally locating the desired tool. He
wordlessly handed them to Mark, and watched the man cut the wet T-shirt
away. Carter was shivering in earnest, so Peter handed the other doctor some
paper towels that were lying on the floor of the van. Mark took them and
tried to dry Carter's chest and arms. They were quickly soaked through.
Mark began dig in his pocket.

"What are you looking for?" Peter asked when Mark came up empty-
handed.

"My keys, so we can turn the heater on," Mark said, wondering where he'd
left them.

"I've got them. Dammit, I should have thought of that earlier," Peter berated
himself as he walked around to the front seat. He slipped the keys into the
ignition and turned the heater on full blast. His fingers clumsily searched for
the button to switch on the interior light. He finally located the knob and
turned it, illuminating the cabin. When he returned to the back he found
Mark was having a difficult time getting the new shirt on their patient.
Carter seemed to be struggling against him while Mark tried to slide the shirt
on him.

"What's going?" Peter asked as he sat down next to them.

"I think he's disoriented," Mark responded as he tried futilely to get Carter's
arms into the sleeves. Peter moved closer to Carter and helped slide the
combative man's arms through the holes of the shirt.

"Hey, Carter, calm down, man. We're getting you warm," Peter told the
struggling doctor comfortingly. Together they completed the difficult task,
then attempted to put the suit jacket on too. Carter opened his eyes and
looked wildly at both men, clearly having a hard time focusing on either of
them.

"What's going on?" he asked in a worried voice. "Where are we?" The
simple struggle he had put up seemed to have drained away what little
energy he had left. Even in the dim light his face looked pale and sickly.

"You were hit by a car, Carter. Do you remember?" Peter asked, a little
nervously. Carter closed his eyes as if trying to recall the memory. When he
opened them, it was evident that he knew what was happening.

"Yea, it-i-it took me a second to-remember it."

"Good, okay," Mark said, sounding relieved. "We need to get those wet
pants off now." He didn't need to confirm anything with Peter; both knew
that severe concussions caused confusion and short-term memory loss.

"I can do it." Carter fumbled with the button of his slacks. He had a hard
time getting his fingers to work. "I guess---it's a good thing I don't---wear a
belt," Carter said jokingly, his voice shaking.

"I'll help." Mark quickly undid the button and slid the pants off. He gathered
the sweatpants in order to put them on quickly, since wet boxers were next
to come off, and he wanted to save the man as much embarrassment as
possible. Mark heard Peter searching for medical instruments from his bag; a
distraction scripted to give Carter privacy. To try to get his mind off the task,
Mark asked him a question.

"Why do you wear suspenders, anyway?" he asked, trying to get Carter's leg
into the sweatpants.

"My grandfather always wore them. And-well, when you have a high
metabolism like my-m-me. Suspenders keep my--pants on--since most belts
don't have enough holes." Mark chuckled at this answer, and Carter smiled.

"High metabolism, hmm, explains why you eat like a horse," he replied.

Carter shifted slightly to find a more comfortable position, and quickly
regretted it. Blackness clouded his vision and pain ripped through his chest.
He put his hand to his injured sternum in a weak attempt to alleviate the
pain. Peter brushed past Mark and put on his stethoscope. Peter rubbed the
end of the instrument to warm it before placing it under Carter's new shirt.
He listened to his lungs, recognizing the sounds of harsh, labored breathing,
and carefully repeated the procedure around his abdomen.

"Normal bowel sounds, heart rate up to 110, breath sounds are still shallow.
Without proper tests I can't say for certain that you haven't lacerated your
liver or your kidney, but I would say that you haven't punctured either of
your lungs." Peter squeezed Carter's shoulder reassuringly and slung the
stethoscope around his neck.

"Now, how many fingers am I holding up?"

"Hmmm, four?" Carter answered woozily.Peter looked over at Mark, and
they shared a worried glance. Peter put down the three fingers he had been
displaying. "Alright, I want you to track my finger." Peter took his pointer
finger and leaned in closer to watch Carter's pupils react to its movement.
After a few minutes of very little response, he put his hand down and turned
to face Mark.

"What is--it? What's wrong, Dr. Benton?" Carter asked his mentor.

"Nothing, Carter," Mark answered him. "We're just concerned about that
bump on your head. You know the drill; you were a bit sluggish reacting to
Peter's tests." Mark wanted Benton to understand that it wasn't a good idea
to let Carter understand the severity of the situation.

"You don't need to hide anything from me, Dr. Greene," Carter stated
through chattering teeth. "I can figure out o--o--on my own what the
problem is. I--I was trained by the b--best."

"Obviously you weren't paying attention to the part about needing to finish
an examination before making a diagnosis," Peter said, a bit too harshly.

Mark scooted over next to Carter and placed his hands on the younger man's
neck, then went about feeling his face and hands. "Peter, could you find my
thermometer and check if the heater is on its highest setting?"

"I already looked for one, and there aren't any in your bag. The heater's on
full blast. This is as warm as it's going to get in here." Peter's voice was
edged in defeat and anxiety.

Mark stood up as much as he could in the cramped car and climbed out and
around to where Benton was sitting. "Look, his skin is cold and clammy. We
need to do something more to keep him from slipping into further shock. I
know I overruled you out in the field, but this isn't the time or place to get
angry about it."

"We compromised his health by moving him," Peter said tersely. "I will not
let you question my judgment again."

"What happened out there, Peter? You usually like to redirect your anger at
others." Mark looked intently at Peter.

"We don't have time to argue right now. How do you suggest we continue
with his care, Dr. Greene?" Peter folded his arms across his chest.

"We don't have any blankets or anything. We'll use body heat." Mark turned
away and sat down next to Carter. "We can take shifts. Do you want me to
go first?"

"Yeah, go ahead," Peter said quietly, as Mark positioned himself behind
Carter.

Mark sat behind Carter so he could wrap his arms around him. Carter leaned
into the embrace for warmth, and Mark rubbed his hands over Carter's
shaking arms. The younger doctor didn't say a word, resting his head on
Mark's shoulder. Mark knew from experience that Benton was uptight
because he felt helpless at the moment. They were both trained doctors, yet
they couldn't do anything for Carter at that moment.

"Don't fall asleep, Carter," Peter warned. "You need to stay awake."

"I-I am awake," Carter whispered. "This is-humiliating."

"It's proper medical procedure, Carter, don't worry about it," Peter said
dryly.

Mark was about to say something reassuring when both men heard the sound
of an approaching car. Peter awkwardly climbed over the front seat, since
Mark and Carter were blocking the path out the back. He frantically yanked
at the inside lever and released the door, then jumped out and ran after the
sound of the retreating vehicle.

To be contiuned... in a day or so.