Chapter 6

There were elephants hanging in the trees, their long, thin trunks looped over bare branches. Their heavy haunches hovered over the earth, threateningly close. Charlie was the earth, so this concerned him. It was obvious, from his position below the elephants, that the trees would not support their weight for long. The branches were already sagging. It was inevitable that they should begin to fall. In fact, they must have begun already, for the earth was sore. Every grain of dirt ached, every blade of grass had been flattened. Charlie, as the earth, truly feared the next descending elephant. He wasn't at all sure that he could take any more.

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Alan sat at Charlie's bedside, hand brushing back curls from his forehead, waiting for him to wake up. He seemed warm to the touch, and Alan hoped he wasn't working on a fever. He told himself it was because the room was kept at an elevated temperature, to increase blood flow through Charlie's hand. Alan was sweating himself. Occasionally he would look at Charlie's arm, wrapped in more gauze than he had known existed in the free world, elevated on several pillows, so that it lay above his heart. He would look at Charlie's fingers, oddly pudgy and slightly pink, and wonder what he couldn't see.

Don sat on the other side of the bed, fully engaged in a panic attack that Alan couldn't see. Ever since they had come into the room, half an hour ago, and he had gotten his first look at those fingers, Don had become increasingly convinced that an astronomical mistake had been made. Those sausages did not belong to his brother. Everything was so…horrifying, at the scene. Everyone had assumed that the hand they found belonged to Charlie, just because he was missing one. Don certainly hadn't taken a good look at it; and now, he had let them spend ten hours sewing it to his brother. It would never "take", of course, it was a foreign body and Charlie's body would reject it. Charlie would not be able to survive that, Don was sure. He saw the sweat on Charlie's forehead; it was probably happening already. Don sat speechless and terrified, having some difficulty getting enough air, and wondering how to break the news to his father.

Larry stood awkwardly at the end of the bed, dividing his attention between Charlie and Don. Frankly, he was more concerned about Don at the moment. At least Charlie's breathing was even, and if he moaned sometimes, it was because he was fighting the anesthesia and morphine, trying to come to the surface. Don's breathing was ragged and rapid, his face white and pinched. Alan's attention was totally on Charlie, and Larry wondered if he should say something to him. He had finally decided to, had opened his mouth, in fact, when Charlie won his battle with a shuddering gasp.

Four eyes locked on his face – Don was still staring at his bandaged arm – and Charlie's own eyelids fluttered. He peered from beneath them and focused first on Larry, at the end of the bed. "Shhupp," he rasped. Alan was waiting with ice chips, and he spooned some into Charlie's mouth.

"It's all right, son, you're all right. Just take it easy."

Charlie sucked the ice and tried to track his father's voice. By the time the ice was melted he gave up and closed his eyes. "Shore 'em 'p," he whispered, more clearly this time.

Alan brushed his hands over Charlie's cheek. "Shore up what, son?"

"Trees," Charlie breathed, "elfants too heavy…"

Alan spooned in some more ice chips. "Wake up now, Charlie. It's time to wake up. We're right here, waiting, your…" Alan glanced up and saw that Don's chair was empty. He looked at Larry, confused, but Larry couldn't help. He had approached the head of Charlie's bed when his friend began to awake, and Don had stood. Larry thought Don was coming, too — but he must have escaped out the door, instead. Larry shrugged, and Alan turned his attention back to Charlie. "Larry and I are here, son, Just try to wake up, for us."

Charlie rolled his eyes until he finally found his father's. "No elfants?"

Alan smiled, and stroked Charlie's cheek. "No, son. No elephants. You're in a hospital. Do you think you can handle a small sip of water?" He placed a straw in Charlie's mouth, but nothing happened.

Larry reached for the cup. "Alan, if I may?" Alan let him have it, and watched Larry hold one finger over the end of the straw while tipping the cup, and Alan saw the straw fill with water. Larry then removed it from the cup and gently placed the end of the straw in Charlie's mouth, then uncovered the other end. Fascinated, Alan saw Charlie swallow when he was confronted with a mouthful of water. Once he had remembered how to do that, he seemed to want more, and he looked at Larry. The physicist replaced the straw in the cup, and this time placed it in Charlie's mouth in the ordinary way, and Alan was thrilled to see Charlie figure out how to drink, again. Larry only allowed one more sip before removing the cup. "More later, Charles," he said softly.

Alan laid a hand on Charlie's shoulder. "How are you feeling, son?"

Charlie blinked slowly a few times, conducting an internal assessment. "Headache," he finally answered. "Everything ache."

"I'm sure," murmured Alan. "Now that you're awake, we'll get the doctor and he'll check you out, then give you some more pain meds, okay?"

Charlie frowned. "Happen?"

This was the tricky part. Just seconds ago, Charlie had been convinced there were elephants hanging from trees. Whatever Alan told him now, he would surely have to repeat later, and he wasn't sure he could do that. While he was thinking, he heard Larry's voice.

"What do you remember, Charles?"

Charlie rolled his eyes toward Larry. He didn't seem to want to move his head. "Bad muffin," he answered, and Larry smiled at Alan.

"Dr. Henderson brought muffins to our faculty meeting yesterday morning. They really were quite atrocious." He looked back at Charlie. "That's correct, Charles. They were bad muffins. Yesterday was Monday, and you have no classes on Mondays until 11:30. Don picked you up for a briefing at the FBI office. Do you remember that?"

Charlie shut his eyes in concentration. He only got them open to half mast the next time, Alan could tell he was going to fall asleep again soon. "Don?"

Alan didn't know if he was simply echoing Larry, or actually asking for his brother. "He's fine, Charlie. Don's fine."

Charlie tried to shift a little on the bed, was immediately assailed by falling elephants, no matter what his father said, and a moan escaped him.

Alan's hand crept back to his forehead. "It's all right now, son, you can sleep some more."

Charlie's eyes slid shut. "Don's ok," he said, both in relief and fear. He didn't know why, but he was suddenly afraid that Don really wasn't okay.

Alan soothed him. "I promise. He's here, he just…stepped out of the room for a moment. You'll see him next time you wake up."

"MMmmmffpphh," Charlie answered, eyes closed, and soon his even breathing told them he was asleep again.

Alan sighed and sat back, and looked up at Larry. "It's nearly eight. You have classes."

Larry continued to stare at Charlie, a hand creeping toward his own hair. "I truly wish that I could stay, Alan. Would you like me to come back, right after class, to help you tell him?"

Alan tried to be diplomatic. The last thing he wanted at the initial telling was a 27-syllable-word dissertation delivered almost randomly. That was, however, exactly what he knew Charlie would want, later. "I think Don and I will just give him the basics, today," he finally answered. "Maybe you can come back this evening, when he's more alert. He's going to have questions I think you would deal with better."

Larry nodded, and began backing toward the door. "Of course. Yes. I'm sure that's the most viable approach." He smiled before he turned to leave. "I'll see you this evening, Alan. Please call, if you need anything."

Alan stood to walk partway to the door and smile himself, and was both incensed and incredibly relieved when Don came in as Larry was going out. "Where the hell did you go?"

Don looked chagrined. "I'm sorry. I…" God, it pained him to admit this. "I was losing it. I was sitting there, staring at it, and I convinced myself that they put the wrong hand on him. Somebody else's. Honest, Dad, I couldn't breathe, and it's so hot in here…"

Alan crossed the few feet between them and drew Don into a quick embrace, then stepped back and smiled at him. "I think it's like puzzle pieces, Don. If it had been the wrong hand, it wouldn't have fit."

Don looked away, embarrassed. "Yeah, well, things weren't making a lot of sense, at the time. I had to get some air."

Alan moved to stand beside him, so that they were both facing Charlie's bed. "It's all right. You're doing fine. I want to be here for you, too, you know. This experience — being so near a bomb detonating, finding your brother so seriously injured. I'm sure it's been difficult." He snuck a sideways glance at Don. "What does Merrick want you to do before you can go back?"

Don made a face. "Department shrink. He's concerned about PTSD. Did Charlie wake all the way up?"

Alan knew Don was trying to change the subject. Well, two could play at that game. "Sort-of. Talked about elephants and trees for a while, then he had some water and seemed a little more alert. He's in a lot of pain. The last thing he remembers is the faculty meeting at school yesterday morning. He wanted to know if you were all right, though. Merrick's right. Your job is dangerous enough. Would you like working in the field with someone else this had happened to, if you didn't know that he was ready to be there?"

Don shifted uncomfortably. "I never said I wouldn't do it," he mumbled, "eventually. Did you and Larry tell him?"

Alan shook his head. "Larry got as far as reminding him that you picked him up, but we were already losing him by then. I didn't have time to tell him about the bomb, or his hand…He'll stay awake longer next time."

Don watched his brother sleep, from a distance. He watched his face, still repelled by the lump on the pillows. "How do you think he'll handle it?" Don was thinking about a couple of months ago, when Charlie had lost a jump drive and had entered a nearly two-week funk while he reconstructed the data. He was remembering Charlie refusing to eat because he was so angry, and he was surprised, stunned even, by his father's answer.

Alan sighed. "He can't take it much harder than you have."