By
Tru False
Author's Note: Thanks everyone for the great reviews! President, really? g>
Sorry this has been so long in coming, and sorry it's short…I've been really busy. I will try to post more soon.
Don had caught up with Charlie's ambulance just as an officer was pushing the back doors closed. When the guy saw Don running towards him, he quickly opened the left door again and let him in, then closed and banged on it twice, signaling that they were good to go. The driver took off immediately and Don half-fell, panting, onto the bench next to Charlie's gurney.
The rage that had flooded his system wasn't leaving as quickly as he would have liked, and he was having trouble thinking straight. He was seeing red, his head was buzzing, and he felt angry at everything. He tried to focus, but he just couldn't turn it off. He was mad at the driver for not going faster, but at the same time he wanted to choke the guy for every bump that jostled Charlie around. He was angry with the paramedics for not doing more, but at the same time he wanted to grab them and shove them away from his brother, to stop them from forcing that plastic tube down his throat. And most unfairly, Don realized, he was angry at Charlie. Angry at him for giving up, for leaving him behind to deal with…whatever it was going to be like without Charlie around. It was unimaginable, really. How was Don supposed to go on living, knowing he had let this happen? And their dad—it was going to kill their dad…
One of the paramedics yelled "Clear" and Don realized they had hooked Charlie up to a defibrillator. He watched him arch up sickeningly, like a rag doll being picked up by a little kid. He dropped back to the gurney with a crash. The medics looked down at some tiny monitor in the bus and repeated the process again. And then again…and again. Nothing happened. Don literally felt each crash of Charlie falling back to the gurney as if it were happening to him as well. His heart pounded in his chest as the reality of what was happening began to sink in. He put his head down in his hand…he just couldn't take it anymore.
"Charging 300," the paramedic said, then added under his breath, "Come on guy, you made it this far…"
Don raised his head at that and looked at Charlie—really looked at him. A moment later, and from out of nowhere, he heard their dad's voice inside his head. The thing you have to understand is, Charlie can never say no to you…all you have to do is ask him something, and he's there for you. Don's own response echoed inside his head, Yeah, and I'm there for him.
Tremendous guilt came crashing down on him …guilt over being angry at Charlie who had fought so hard, and guilt that came with the realization that it was in fact he who was giving up. It entwined itself easily with the responsibility he felt for letting this whole situation develop in the first place, and the sensation quickly became overwhelming—choking. Don forced the feelings down and focused on his brother instead. Come on Charlie, he urged inside his head, Come on…you can do this buddy. He fixed an intense gaze on him. Come on …one more time, for me. Come on buddy…please don't quit on me….
"Clear," the first paramedic called again, and his partner stepped back. This time the shock pulled Charlie even further up off of the gurney, but when he dropped back down, there was another sound that accompanied the crash…a tiny, regular beep. It was the most beautiful sound Don had ever heard. The paramedics started rattling off more stats to each other, none of which meant anything to Don, but the little bit of hope in their voices was clear to him.
"That's it buddy," Don said quietly to Charlie, placing his hand on Charlie's forearm and giving a gentle squeeze. "That's good…you're doing it buddy. Just hang in there for me…just a little bit more. We're almost there…I promise." He kept talking quietly to Charlie, kept the contact with him, kept praying that he could hang on just a little bit longer.
It seemed like hours but in reality it was probably only a few minutes later when the ambulance finally stopped and the back doors were pulled open. "What have we got?" a guy in scrubs and a white coat asked. He and the nurse with him took the back end of Charlie's gurney and guided it down and out of the ambulance as the two medics slid out along side, rattling off a bunch of numbers that meant nothing to Don except that his brother was barely hanging on. He ran alongside Charlie's gurney as they wheeled him into the ER, all the time keeping hold of his arm, all the time keeping up his mantra of pleas and promises to Charlie.
Eventually, a second nurse appeared and ran alongside them. A moment later, she put a hand out to Don's chest to stop him going any further. In a day that had been filled with difficult things, he dug deep once again and forced himself to let go of Charlie. As he watched them disappear behind the swinging ER doors, he felt totally cut off, as if he had no purpose left. He tried to think of what he should do next. And he realized then that there wasn't anything else to do. Charlie had made it to the hospital—he had done it. There was nothing else.
He stared at the doors for a moment as this information worked its way around his brain. And then suddenly, the adrenaline flooded out of his system. He actually felt it, like a balloon deflating inside of him. The first thing he felt was immense fatigue, but then almost immediately, his ribs started screaming at him. His head pounded mercilessly. His vision swam. And his hand… It was pure agony, waves of pain that shot up and down the entire length of his arm. He cradled it against his chest.
Sit, he thought, I need to sit. He kept his eyes on the ground in an attempt to steady himself and slowly made his way to an empty row of chairs. People's voices and hospital noises flooded his ears…everything sounded exceptionally loud now and suddenly he couldn't make sense of any of it. He eased himself down into one of the chairs and closed his eyes. He was sure he was going to throw up.
He rested his forehead in the palm of his good hand, laying his damaged one gently in his lap. He tried to take deep breaths, but that only increased the pain in his side. He settled for frequent, short breaths and opened his eyes again, fixing them on the tiled floor beneath him in an effort to stave off the nausea that threatened.
Eventually, he felt a hand on his shoulder. Someone was talking to him…someone familiar. He focused on the voice, grateful. Terry.
He tried to listen to what she was saying…something about his dad and a cell phone. He wanted to raise his head and talk to her, but he couldn't do it—he was barely hanging on as it was. Help, he thought desperately, I need help. But those were three words that Don never could bring himself to say.
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Terry looked down at Don in concern. He hadn't responded to her question and he hadn't looked up at her. She crouched down in front of him and still he didn't raise his head.
"Don?" she questioned softly, placing a hand on his knee. She got no response.
She bit her bottom lip in worry, then reached out and gently took his left hand in hers, bringing it slowly forward to examine it. If it hurt, he gave no indication. She gently turned it over and appraised it, feeling a stab of guilt for squeezing as hard as she had earlier…it was swollen to at least twice its normal size, grossly misshapen and turning a livid color. And it—like the rest of him—was covered in blood…Charlie's blood. She let go and he slowly drew it back. Otherwise, he made no movement.
Frustrated, she took his face in her hands and gently forced his head up to meet her gaze. He blinked rapidly at her but made no other response. She tried to read his eyes but found she couldn't—he was a blank slate. Her concern for him grew; no one was this strong... She let go and he put his head back down in his hand.
She took a deep breath and stood up. She couldn't resist placing a hand on top of his head. "I'm gonna get you some help," she said quietly, and she was gone.
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At some point while Terry was gone, Don had started shivering intermittently. By the time she returned, he was shivering more than he was still. He felt her disappear again, but then a moment later something came down around his shoulders…something blissfully warm—a blanket.
Terry resumed her position in front of him. "I've found you a doctor…she's going to come look at you in just a minute," she offered. Don made no response, but then she hadn't really expected him to.
"I called your dad," she added quietly. "Found his cell number in your phone…turns out he's up in Oxnard? That's why I couldn't get him at the house." She watched Don for any reaction. "He's worried, obviously. Says he'll be here as soon as he can…probably about an hour." Don gave a small nod at that. She felt for him—she knew how hard it was going to be for him to have to see his dad's distress on top of everything else. She knew he would probably feel responsible for Charlie, that he was probably already thinking he had let his whole family down. She watched him, hunched over and shivering gently in front of her, and wanted nothing more than to pull him into her arms and hold him. But she knew how Don was. She settled for bringing the blanket up tighter around his shoulders and giving his knee another gentle squeeze. She took the seat next to him and waited.
The doctor did indeed show up a few minutes later. An attractive young lady with blonde hair pulled back in a neat ponytail, she squatted in front of Don's chair much as Terry had earlier.
"This is your partner?" she asked Terry, though it was more of a statement than a question.
Terry nodded.
"How are you feeling, Agent…"
"Eppes," Terry supplied, "He hasn't really said anything since I got here."
The doctor nodded. She took in Don's appearance and began to reach for his damaged hand.
"Where are you bleeding from?" she asked.
Don gave no response. "It's not his blood," Terry filled in. Again, the doctor nodded.
She gently turned Don's hand over so it was palm up. "For a dislocation, this is severe," she commented. "You'll need surgery to repair it…but then, I imagine you already knew that," she said as she skimmed the old scar that ran along the base of his thumb. Though her touch was feather light, he flinched violently. "Sorry," she said quietly, releasing his hand.
She paused for a moment. "Why don't we move into exam room One," she offered, indicating a room about fifteen feet down the hall. When Don made no response, she looked at Terry who nodded and rose, putting her hand on Don's arm to gently urge him up. He slowly rose and started down the hall with her. Terry chanced a glance over at him as they walked. She had never seen anyone look so utterly beaten down. She honestly couldn't believe he was still on his feet. But even as she thought it, she knew there was one reason he was still going, and she knew what it was: Charlie.