West watched the uneven rise and fall of Arte's chest. His face was so pale and fragile looking, Jim was almost afraid to touch him. Arte couldn't seem to catch his breath; his lungs were in complete distress. Tortured brown eyes slowly opened and focused on the blue ones watching over him. Jim sat on the edge of the bed, and took his friend's hand.
How's the chest?
Hurts like hell.
A specialist is on his way, just hang in there.
Even through the searing pain, Arte could see the stress in his partner's eyes, and it worried him.
He tried to force his timbre to sound normal, You all right, Jim?
Don't you spend one second thinking about me, Artemus. I'll be fine as soon as I know you're okay.
Arte tried a small smile, I'm surprised....I'm still breathing.
Then stop wasting it on small talk. Just rest now.
There was a knock on the door, and a small man wearing round spectacles and a white lab coat entered the room. After checking Artemus thoroughly under Jim's watchful scrutiny, he pulled West out into the hallway.
Am I to understand that you are the next of kin, Mr. West?
Yes, that's right, Dr......?
Anderson. Dr. Nigel Anderson. The man looked Jim in the eyes, I suggest you make certain that Mr. Gordon's affairs are in order. Despite the shock on Jim's face, Anderson's voice remained cold and clinical, I'm sorry, Mr. West, but Mr. Gordon isn't going to make it out of this.
A fury that Jim didn't know existed in him, bubbled to the surface like lava in a volcano. After everything Arte had been through, this little man was saying it was over. Before he knew what he was doing, Jim had the man by the neck, and had shoved him into the wall.
That's not acceptable, Dr. Anderson. Arte didn't live through all of this just so you could condemn him to death without lifting a finger to help him.
Anderson remained calm, Mr. West, I understand that this must be a blow to you, but there is simply nothing I can do. The damage to Mr. Gordon's left lung is irreparable. My colleague, Dr. Mantua, did set the broken bones, but only in the interest of making Mr. Gordon comfortable. That's the only course of treatment available to us now.
A voice boomed from behind Jim's shoulder, James, what in God's name are you doing? Let the man go.
Anderson's eyes grew wide with disbelief. Jim turned and found himself face to face with the President of the United States.
Out of habit, Jim straightened to attention, Mr. President.
Grant seemed annoyed, You didn't answer my question. When Jim wasn't forthcoming, Grant took a step closer, noting the tears in the man's eyes, I take it things are not going well.
Jim's voice was small, tired, I'm afraid not, sir.
The President considered it for a moment, then turned toward Anderson, You are the attending, I presume?
Um, yes. Yes sir....uh, yes sir, Mr. President, sir....
Relax, doctor, I might be President, but I still pull my pants on one leg at a time like everyone else. Tell me about my man Gordon.
It's grave, Mr. President. He has a collapsed lung, and from the looks of his contusions, there are probably other internal organ injuries. There is nothing we can do really, except keep him comfortable.
Grant noticed West slump against the wall of the corridor. The President put his arm around the doctor, and walked him a few steps away.
Doctor, Artemus Gordon and James West are like sons to me. Is there nothing you might even try, no matter how unlikely?
The doctor stopped walking, and faced Grant, Mr. President, I could perform surgery, but in his weakened state, the chances of Mr. Gordon even surviving the procedure are very slight. And if he does live through the surgery, the odds are great that he will still die. All this must be weighed against the certainty of the pain it will cause him. As a physician, I don't recommend this course of action.
Perhaps doctor, we should ask Mr. Gordon's opinion. It is, after all, his life.
The doctor nodded, Very well, Mr. President.
Give me a moment with Mr. West first.
Anderson nodded and moved off, allowing Grant to walk over to Jim alone. The President pulled the young agent close to him, as a father would do to a son.
James, I know you're devastated, but Artemus is going to need you to stay strong.
All Jim could do was nod.
The President continued, We're going to go talk to him, and offer him a chance, James.
Yes. Dr. Anderson has agreed that if Artemus is willing to endure the procedure, he will try to repair his lung and whatever else he finds that has been damaged. But James, you must understand that the doctor feels surgery will cause Artemus to suffer a very painful end, and there is barely a chance he will survive.
Barely a chance is better than none at all, Mr. President.
Grant patted his back, No matter what the outcome, James, we will have done everything possible.
Putting an arm around him, Grant led Jim toward Arte's door. Dr. Anderson followed the two of them into the room, and watched quietly as Jim sat down on the bed, taking Gordon's good hand in his. Arte's face was taut with a grimace, and he was shivering in distress. West rubbed his hand gently for a few minutes, and finally Arte spoke.
Hey buddy, how are you holding up?
Lot of pain.... Arte noticed the President standing behind Jim, Mr. President....
Grant reached a hand forward and placed it gently on Arte's forehead, Relax, Artemus, it's best if you rest easy.
Arte managed a nod.
Grant's voice was soft, gentle, There's something we need to ask you.
Yes, sir...
West noticed that saying even two words at a time taxed his partner to the edge.
Grant continued, Dr. Anderson can perform surgery; if you survive it, and it's successful, it will give you a chance.
But the doctor feels that there is a very slim hope of survival. He is unfortunately quite certain that it will cause you tremendous pain, live or die.
Sounds.....charming, sir.
West squeezed his friend's hand, and Arte could plainly see the fear lining Jim's face.
Come on.....Jim, you know how....I love to try new...things.
Anderson spoke up, We shouldn't wait then, it will take me an hour or so to assemble the people I need.
Jim turned toward Anderson, Can you give him something for the pain?
Anderson left for a moment, and came back with a syringe and a glass bottle. He filled the syringe and walked over to the bed. He pulled back the blankets and aimed the needle for the large muscle in Arte's hip, slipping out of the room when he was finished. The morphine plunged into Arte's system, and after a few minutes, he began to relax. His eyes felt heavy.
I'm here.
The President squeezed West's shoulder on his way out, Take care of him, James, I'll be in the waiting area if you need me.
Yes sir.
Jim moved to the chair by the bed, and fell asleep with Arte's hand still in his.
To be continued.....
