Chapter 7
Don couldn't stop smiling.
He stood in the doorway of his brother's room. Charlie was staring blearily at him from the bed, having just complained that Alan's snoring was keeping him awake — and if he had to lie here listening to Dad snore, why couldn't he have something to eat?
The world was full of good signs.
If Alan felt at ease enough to fall asleep, Charlie must be better.
If his brother felt like complaining about something, Charlie must be better.
If his brother wanted something to eat, Charlie must be A LOT better.
All of this in the five hours Don had been gone. He wanted to find out who had been responsible for developing this newest antibiotic, and send everyone on the research team flowers.
He crossed the floor to the bed, still smiling, and confirmed his suspicion with his own hand against Charlie's forehead. His smile faltered a little. "You're still pretty warm."
"Down almost 4 degrees," protested Charlie weakly. "Give me a break."
Don's smile broadened again and he sat in the chair in which Alan wasn't snoring. He held Charlie's gaze. "So you're feeling better."
Charlie nodded carefully. "They took my morphine drip," he said, adding, "and they say I have to sit up later. Can they do both of those things at the same time?"
Don kept grinning. "Yeah, Bro, I'm afraid so. I'm sure they'll give you something else. Demerol, or something."
They were silent for a while, Don still grinning like a mad man.
Charlie yawned. "What exactly happened?"
Don felt the grin leave his face. "Perforation," he answered. "Something not cool with the ulcers you didn't tell us about."
Charlie yawned again. "I'm so tired…"
Don leaned forward in the chair a little. "I'll bet. You should rest. We can talk later. Tomorrow."
Charlie looked at him. "Did I do something wrong?"
Don cursed himself silently. "No, Charlie, everything's okay. You just need more rest, now. I'm saying I'll be here later, when you wake up."
Charlie smiled a little dreamily as his eyelids grew heavy. "'Kay, Tonto."
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Dr. Reynolds stood just inside the door and watched the three of them sleep. At least two of them were snoring, and he made a mental note to suggest sleep apnea studies. He looked at his watch. Nearly 6 0'clock. He spoke quietly to the nurse beside him. "Oh, go ahead and let it go, for tonight. The sleep will do him more good. Just get me another set of vitals before you go off duty and be sure to tell the next shift I want him up for breakfast. Gelatin." He grinned at her. "Breakfast of champions."
She grinned back. "What should I do with his father and brother?"
He considered, finally sighed. "Just keep the door closed. I don't want their snoring to keep the entire floor awake."
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Alan's head lolled sharply to the side, off the edge of the chair, and the resulting jerk woke him up. In the darkness of the room he was unsure at first where he was. He heard Don's soft snore and saw the strip of light under the closed door at the same time, and sat up a little in the chair. They must have both fallen asleep in Charlie's room, and the hospital staff had let them stay. It was obviously very late…
He stretched cramped muscles and stood slowly. He needed to use the restroom. But first, he needed to check on Charlie.
His eyes saw more in the darkness now, and he was able to make out his son's sleeping face. He touched Charlie's forehead lightly and was pleased to find that since breaking that afternoon, the fever had not begun to climb again. Alan looked around. Donnie was asleep in the chair on the other side of the bed. His hand was threaded through the bed rails and lay loosely on top of Charlie's.
Alan rubbed the back of his neck. His eyes watered as he remembered some of the things he had said to Donnie, the way he had treated him. He felt horrible. In the beginning, a child himself, Don had been a reluctant brother's keeper. Then there had been years of separation, and when he had first returned to L.A., things were strained between the brothers, and complicated by their mother's illness. But they had worked through that, both of them, and the last few years had been full of moments that made Alan so proud, made him wish so badly that Margaret could see them…
He had let his fear for Charlie cloud his judgment and control his tongue. He looked down at his shoes and sighed, brought his eyes back up to find Donnie staring at him.
"Is he okay?", his son whispered.
Alan nodded. "Let's both go home for a few hours and get some real rest," he whispered back, and Don stretched and rose from the chair. He, too, touched Charlie's forehead briefly. Apparently satisfied, he met his father at the end of the bed. He was still glancing over his shoulder at Charlie, and was surprised and nearly taken off his feet by his father's sudden frontal attack. Alan's arms encircled him and drew Don close. One hand moved to the back of Don's head, and he heard his father speaking lowly into his ear. "I'm so sorry, Donnie, I'm so sorry. Please forgive me. I don't really believe those things. You're a good son, a good brother. You make me proud."
Don felt himself relaxing into his father's embrace and the stress of the last few days threatened to break him apart. He squeezed his father hard, and turned his head so that he could speak into Alan's ear. "It's okay, Dad, it's okay. There's nothing to forgive. I love you, too."
Charlie watched them from the bed and wondered what had happened while he'd been out. Whatever it was must have been bad, and his heart ached for both of them, then lightened as they continued to hold each other. He smiled slightly, but as they began to break apart he closed his eyes quickly, so that they wouldn't know he was watching. He played the scene over in his head, and let it warm him in a way the fever never had. He sighed a little and shifted on the bed, and before his father and brother had left the room, Charlie was back in a deep sleep.