Warrick shifted uncomfortably in his chair, finally lifting his head from his hand and shaking his arm to get rid of the pins and needles that had set in. His funny bone had been pressed into the hard wooden arm of the chair as he slept, his head canted to the side, his hand cupped around his ear as the world's most uncomfortable pillow.
He cranked his head back and forth in a fruitless attempt at working out the kinks. They weren't going anywhere. Had in fact been his constant companion for four full days now.
The first two days had been spent in a waiting area outside the ICU. The room they had set up for visitors was meant to look homey, but week old TV Guides, Ladies' Home Journal, and Golf magazines did not a home make. Neither did the pleasantly neutral furniture and décor. And the religious pamphlets sprinkled about, offering the Lord's help in these trying times …did not confer the comfort they were meant to.
Unfortunately, the Infection Control area was verboten for non-medical personnel and except for brief visits outside a Plexiglas wall staring at his friend fighting for his life, the part of "home" was being played by the waiting area.
He hadn't been alone the whole time. Various members of the team had stopped by after making the two hour drive down from Vegas, but other than to sit and stare at each other the visits were mostly wasted time, serving only to make the visitor feel better, as their reason for being there had no idea of their presence.
In fact, Nick had no idea of much of anything. Day One, after being taken up from the ER, his fever had spiked higher. The doctor, a new one, thank you very much as the smarmy intern ceased to have any further part in Nick's case, had been very decent. And very clinical. Very Grissom-like, actually, which was probably why the supervisor and he usually held the conversations while the rest sat by in stunned silence.
They had gotten Nick's records from the George Q and the doctor admitted to being a bit dismayed at learning that doctors there had already had Nick on the antibiotics they were trying. The doc was quick to assure them that Nick probably wasn't on them long enough to help, and they would still rely on them. For a while. There really were no alternatives, from the way Grissom explained it. The supervisor had forwent his usual book perusal and had hit the Internet hard, researching cutting-edge antibiotics and each time he'd get more information on Nick's current blood cultures he'd open his lap top. It gave the entomologist something to do and no one begrudged him his exercise in futility. They all had their ways of coping.
Greg played incessantly on his PSP, the beeps and electronic melodies emanating from the machine often the only sound in the room. He had kindly offered the usage of his game player to Warrick and Sara but both declined. His response was generally a shrug, then his head would bow back down, immersed in saving the princess or scoring a touchdown. Whatever. It was coping.
Catherine had the toughest time spending time there, as the distance was too great from home and Lindsey. She and Grissom traded visits for a while, but as the pointlessness of their visits dragged on them she found it easier to stay behind and wait for one of them to step outside the hospital and give her a progress report.
Unfortunately, there wasn't much progress to report. Day One ended with hallucinations. Nick would rant and rave, sometimes in Spanish. Whatever the man was experiencing, his reaction was violent and aggressive. Long spurts of foul language, dredged up from God knows where, directed at God knows whom. Sometimes he called out for Mari. Then the tears would come. Great gasping gulping sobs. The nurses had finally been forced to put him in soft restraints after he ripped out an IV line and swung at an orderly there to change his sheets.
Day Two brought convulsions. Nick's body wracked by bone snapping seizures. A hasty dunking in an ice bath would temporarily bring his temp down from fatal levels, but it would soon find itself climbing back up, tenth of a point by tenth of a point. By the end of Day Two the doctors were considering the extreme measure of putting Nick on a heart bypass machine and cooling his blood externally.
Thankfully, that particularly hazardous procedure proved unnecessary as Day Three began with his fever dropping to 104, barely that of an adult stuck at home with strep throat. Day Three had also brought the first of several members of the extended Stokes clan up from Texas.
Warrick had left several messages at the family ranch without response. His last call, the afternoon of Day Two, had been answered by a woman speaking Spanish. She had no English and his Espanol was limited to saying hi, and what time is it? If pressed he could probably ask where the bathroom was. He hastily wrangled an innocent bystander by shouting, "Does anyone here speak Spanish?" to the people milling outside the hospital. A nurse had quickly run over and taken the phone, translating for Warrick to the flustered and befuddled housekeeper on the other end of the line. After finally getting her to understand that Mr. Nick was very ill and in a hospital she told them that the Judge and his wife were at a conference and she had no idea how to get a hold of them. She assured Warrick through the nurse that she would have someone call him and took down his cell number. A few hours later Nick's older sister, Jen, had called and Warrick filled her in on what was going on. She and another sister had managed to arrange childcare and flown in the next morning, joined hours later by the second wave of Stokes family members, another sister and the oldest brother. Warrick remembered shaking the brother's hand, staring at the face of what Nick might look like in another fifteen years.
Now it was Day Four. Nick had been moved out of the quarantine area into the general ICU and was now allowed brief visitation. Not that it mattered much to the man. Rare and intermittent, his painfully short periods of lucidity showed that whatever Nick had gained back memory-wise had been lost to him once more. He had no recollection of any of the events leading up to his admittance. The doctor told them that as Nick's high dosage of steroids had been so abruptly stopped on the advent of his lethally high temperature that a setback was expected. He also said that it could be a result of brain damage suffered due to the fever or the convulsions. Only time would tell.
Time was something Warrick had plenty of. Minutes stretched into hours that stretched into days. And he sat. Waiting.
And it was in the chair next to Nick's bed that he currently waited. His brief nap had been interrupted by his arm falling asleep. The tingling still remained as he shook his hand and cracked his back.
Nick appeared to be sleeping relatively comfortably. The doctors had agreed to start him back on pain medication. What was unspoken was the reason for it. They figured it couldn't affect his memory recovery if there was no recovery to be made.
A nurse wandered in, a normal and expected regular occurrence, and she paid Warrick no mind as she bustled about the small room. She took Nick's ear temp and smiled. Warrick noticed the look on her face and sat up straighter. "Better?" he asked quietly.
"Yup. Down to 103.7. Looks like it's still dropping."
Warrick rubbed his hand down his face and sat back heavily in his chair, allowing himself brief enjoyment of this bit of good news. He laid his head back on the heavily padded chair back and closed his eyes, allowing himself to drift back to sleep, a small smile on his face.
Unbeknownst to him, a similar smile appeared on his partner's face as he slept.
… … … … … … … … … … … …
TBC - and Very Soon, I promise. Warning: the rating will be upped for the next chapter to M. Just in case. There be S-E-X in them thar' hills…