By
Tru False
Chapter 17 A/N: Thank you so much for your reviews...it was really kind of difficult to get back into this having left it for so long. You guys are great and I really appreciate the time that a lot of you (and especially my regular reviewers) have put in to commenting on my writing. Some of this is kind of mushy, but I felt like we'd earned it with all that angst. One chapter after this and we are done.Neither Terry nor Don spoke as they climbed the stairs to Don's apartment although Terry, mindful of his injuries, kept a close eye on him to see if he was struggling. When they reached the top she handed him the keys, asking him which one was the door key. He handed them back to her with one singled out, leaning heavily against the doorframe as she worked the lock.
"Come on," she said softly, and sent him in first with her hand on his back. He started for the couch but she immediately steered him to the bedroom instead. "You need to get some real rest," she said. She realized how beat he was when he didn't argue with her, but simply allowed himself to be herded into the next room. He went straight for the bed, and she imagined that had he not had broken ribs, he would have literally fallen into it. Instead he gingerly sat down and eased himself onto his back with a slight grimace. When his head hit the pillow, his eyes were already closed.
"At least take your shoes off," she commented as she gently pulled them off his feet. She straightened up and looked at him. David's slightly-too-large clothes he would have to sleep in; she didn't have the heart to make him move around any more. She started to pull the sheets up over him when she noticed something folded up in his hand.
"What's this?" she asked as she took the papers from him.
Don's forced his eyes open at that.
"They were in the car," he said, his voice slurred with exhaustion. "I need to keep them. They might be important to him."
Terry unfolded the papers and looked at Charlie's notes, scrawled in what might as well have been a foreign language, and not for the first time that day felt a deep pang of sadness. Had he really been riding in the car with them, fine as could be, just that morning? She folded the papers back up quietly.
"I'll put them right here," she said as she laid the notes down on the nightstand beside him. He nodded once as his eyes drifted shut again. She pulled the covers the rest of the way up and sat down next to him on the edge of the bed.
"I'm supposed to wake you up every few hours, so I'll apologize for that now," she said softly. He nodded once again and made a small grunt of acceptance, though he didn't open his eyes.
"I'll be right outside if you need anything, okay?"
He didn't respond and his even breathing told her he was already asleep. She couldn't resist running a hand gently through his hair before she stood.
On her way out the door, something on his wardrobe caught her eye—a picture, clearly Don and a girl. She leaned in closer to look at it. It was nosy, but she couldn't help it…she had always been curious about Kim. The corners of her mouth turned up as she studied the picture of a young, happy looking Don, baseball cap turned backwards and beer in hand, his arms wrapped around a young, happy looking Terry, baseball cap forwards and hands in his back pockets. She turned back to him, surprised. A moment later, she slipped silently through the door, pulling it to a crack behind her.
She set the alarm on her cell phone for three hours later, then stretched out on his sofa and closed her eyes. She drifted to sleep with the ghost of a smile still on her lips.
123123123Three days later
Don sat alongside Charlie's bed in the green vinyl chair, his feet propped up on the bottom edge of Charlie's mattress, his eyes intent on the television screen playing quietly in the far corner.
"He needs to be playing in closer on this guy," he commented to Charlie, shaking his head.
There was a crack and then a roar from the fans. "See what I'm saying…line drive left, every time."
He looked over at his brother, whose chest still rose and fell with a forced rhythm. His dad had told him the doctors said they should talk to Charlie, but he had tried it and felt stupid. Watching baseball with him though—that was a different matter. That didn't feel stupid at all.
Don turned back to the TV, dropping his head back over the back of the chair for a moment to stretch his neck. He had been there for five hours so far—a short shift compared to the hours his dad has been keeping. They had agreed that one of them should be there at all times…they didn't want Charlie waking up alone in the hospital. Don was relieved to be back in the rotation; he had had to miss all of yesterday to have surgery on his thumb, and it had been difficult to be away. He looked down at his left hand, now cast-free but sporting a pretty horrific looking contraption with various pins that ran into his hand. He turned it over gently in his lap. It was starting to throb again, but he wanted to wait to take a painkiller because they always made him drowsy.
His cell phone rang and he pulled it out of his pocket and answered immediately, looking over at Charlie as if the ringing could have somehow disturbed him.
"Eppes," he answered quietly.
"You're not working for three weeks Don, you could answer like a normal person."
"Hey Terry. What's up?" he asked her.
"David and I have a new case. We're heading out to Reno; we were just wondering about Charlie."
"There's no change really," he replied, looking at his brother again. "But they took away another machine this morning, and they tell me that's a good thing." He was quiet for a moment. "Why isn't Albuquerque working the Reno case?" he asked, changing the subject.
"Albuquerque's shorthanded."
"Albuquerque's shorthanded?"
"That's what they said," she answered.
"What's the case?"
"No way Don. You're on leave for three weeks, and it's been two days. Rest. And call us if there's any change with Charlie."
"Terry, come on—"
"Oh, and Don? Take your painkillers." The phone clicked as she ended the connection.
Don flipped his own phone shut and looked at Charlie. "How does she do that?" he asked him.
123123123
Charlie blinked rapidly as he struggled into awareness. It was a strange sensation at first, but eventually he came around enough to realize he was in a blindingly bright room. And he was instantly disappointed to find his world was still filled with pain. He was trying to orient himself when the most horrible thing happened—his lungs expanded broadly, and when they did, his whole chest exploded in fire. Almost as quickly, the air whooshed out of them. He was still trying to recover from it when mercilessly, the process started over again. He realized then that it was happening against his will—he was definitely trying not to breathe. He tried to call out for help, but when he did, nothing happened. Nothing. Not a moan, not a whimper…nothing. Something was choking him, but he couldn't even gag against it. This had to be what drowning felt like—it was terrifying. He couldn't understand why all this was happening to him. He couldn't understand what he had done to deserve it…all he wanted was to wake up and not hurt anymore.
123123123
Don jerked awake in his chair, immediately angry with himself for falling asleep. He instinctively looked to check on Charlie, and almost fell out of his chair. Charlie was awake! He started to smile, but then he saw the wild, distressed look in Charlie's eyes and realized what had woken him. Charlie was reaching for the respirator…groggily trying to pull it from his throat, his face twisted in pain.
"Charlie," Don called urgently and leaned over him, awkwardly taking one and then the other of Charlie's wrists in his good hand. It was fortunate that Charlie was weak, or he wouldn't have been able to manage it.
"Charlie," he said again, making sure he was in his line of vision. "It's okay. Just relax—don't fight it."
But Charlie didn't relax. Don went to reach for the nurse's call button but realized he couldn't let go of Charlie's wrists. As his other hand was useless, he had to contort his arm until he somehow managed to punch the call button with his elbow.
Before he could even speak, a crackly reply came over the small speaker. "We've seen the monitors. A nurse is on the way and we're paging the doctor."
Thank God for small favors. He turned his attention back to Charlie.
"Charlie, listen to me. You're okay. Open your eyes Charlie."
Finally he did so and Don smiled at him reassuringly. "Hey Buddy," he said quickly. "It's okay. You're in the hospital. You're on a machine to help you breathe…don't fight it, okay? You understand me?"
Charlie's eyes closed tightly again as his chest rose sharply, then fell. He nodded his head briefly, grimacing as the movement shifted the tube in his throat. He opened his eyes again, searching for Don.
"They're coming right now Charlie. They'll give you something…just hang on for me for one more second."
Charlie kept his eyes glued on Don. "You with me now?" he asked him after a moment. Charlie didn't make any motions but Don sensed a 'yes' from him and gently let go of his wrists.
A nurse came bustling through the door then, followed a split second later by Charlie's surgeon, Dr. Grissen. "Dr. Eppes," he said cheerily as he approached the bed, "it's nice to have you with us again."
"He's in a lot of pain," Don informed him immediately.
"I'm sure," the doctor replied with genuine sympathy. "We're going to give you something in just a moment," he said to Charlie. "We just need to check a few things first…"
Don forced himself to sit back in his chair as the doctor checked Charlie over, occasionally making a comment to the nurse, who scribbled quickly on what must have been Charlie's chart. Soon the doctor stood back, addressing Charlie but also looking to Don. "You're awake a little sooner than we expected, but I'm reluctant to take you off the ventilator just yet," he explained. "What we can do is basically 'turn it down' a notch…you'll be able to breathe on your own, but if you're not pulling enough oxygen, then the machine will take over for you. If you continue to progress at this rate, we should be able to take you off completely in a day or so."
Charlie nodded his ascension—he would have agreed to anything that stopped the horrible forced inflating sensation—and immediately grimaced when the tube moved in his throat.
"Obviously it's very uncomfortable to be intubated, so we're going to give you something now to help you sleep." Dr. Grissen nodded to his nurse, who had already pulled a measure of liquid into a syringe. She went to reach for the IV line when Charlie stopped her, putting his hand up to indicate he wanted her to wait. She looked surprised, but complied.
"Charlie," Don implored him, "you need to rest."
Charlie turned his eyes to Don and slowly held his hand out to him. Don was taken aback for a moment, but then reached out and clasped hands with him, surprised at the strength in Charlie's grip.
Charlie held his brother's eyes with an intense stare, desperately trying to convey a multitude of thanks and love without the benefit of words. Though he really didn't remember everything that had happened, he was certain that Don was the reason he had made it through. He worried for a moment that maybe Don couldn't understand what he was trying to express, but then he saw the corners of his mouth turn up ever so slightly, even as his eyes swam threateningly. Charlie watched him blink the emotion back and felt him squeeze his hand.
Don turned his attention to the nurse for a split second, nodding to indicate that she should go ahead, then immediately turned back to Charlie and kept his eyes locked with his. Slowly, Charlie's eyes drifted shut, and Don felt himself begin to relax as the pain finally eased itself out of his brother's features.
It was a good ten minutes later, long after the doctor and nurse had left them, when Don finally let go of his hand.