Matthew Lawson was mad. He had left the surgery once Charlie gave him the phone number and name, but he didn't go far. He paced the waiting room in front of the practice, trying to get hold of his emotions. Trying to figure out what needed to be done.
It was hard to think though. Whatever Blake was doing... it wasn't painless. Lawson could handle hearing Blake's reassuring and soothing words, but he drew the line when he heard a sound that was close to a whimper. With a curse, he walked into the living room. First thing he did was to pour himself a stiff drink. The whiskey burned its way down his throat and even though Lawson tried not to find solace in alcohol, this time the burn was preferable to the twisting of his stomach.
That stupid boy.
Why the hell did he let himself be dragged into an undercover op? When he had no real backing, no one to save his ass if things went south. And Lawson didn't count Johnson as backup. He didn't know all that happened, after all, Charlie seemed only half conscious as he was describing the events. Based on the glances Blake was shooting him, the clenched jaw of the doctor, Lawson was sure there was more to tell. Much more that he wasn't privy to yet. But he would be. As soon as Blake finished his doctoring he planned to give the man the third degree... and then, once Charlie was awake... God help the man. Lawson was going to rip him a new one.
If he hadn't made it out alive... they would have never learned the truth. Lawson was sure of that if nothing else.
The phone call he got from O'Leary earlier that day was proof enough.
The glass was empty. Lawson shot it a betrayed look. He didn't want to get drunk, definitely not before taking care of things. With some distaste, he put the glass on the table and leaned back on the couch, the paper with the phone number crinkled in his hands. Blasted thing.
Lawson was hoping to get a bit of peace now that Blake had settled down with Jean. At least the man had other things to occupy himself with and was easier to handle during a case. So of course when one troublemaker had taken a break, the other one went ahead and caused mayhem.
Lawson was only glad that Charlie didn't get mixed up in something illegal. While this undercover assignment was unfortunate, Lawson felt compelled to back him up. If Charlie had gotten himself mixed up in something iffy... well. Lawson was glad he didn't have to worry about that now. To be frank, he wasn't sure what he would do. Once he saved the kid's life and jumped in front of that damn car, Lawson felt obligated to make sure Charlie outlived him. For whatever sappy reason.
Lawson shot a longing look towards the bottle of whiskey. He would wait with it until Blake emerged from the surgery, he decided. Better have something to dampen down the anger that would undoubtedly resurface once he got a full report on Charlie's injuries. Or the details he was lacking.
Right now he needed to think about the situation at hand. There were things that couldn't be put away. The longer they were left alone, the more damage could be caused. The phone call from Charlie's mother was proof enough.
Lawson could understand that the higher ups were a bit antsy. If Charlie was supposed to appear in Sydney and he didn't... well. He was their witness... he was a cop. Sooner or later, his disappearance would definitely be noticed and bring questions.
Actually... the thought of some hapless idiot sitting in the office, worrying about his own ass for once made Lawson's lips turn up into a smile. Maybe he should leave it for tomorrow. Or the day after. He would have loved to let them sweat it out.
Unfortunately, O'Leary was becoming rather aggressive about his approach and Lawson knew Charlie wouldn't take kindly if he learned his mother was being harassed and questioned. That made the decision clear.
With a sigh, feeling anything but calm, Lawson picked up the phone.
It took only two rings for O'Leary to pick up.
Lawson didn't lose time with niceties.
"You wanted to know when I get word from Davis."
There was a moment of silence.
"Is he in Ballarat?"
"I'm not privy to his location at the moment," Lawson said. He knew O'Leary would appear at the house sooner or later, but he wanted to give Charlie some time to get back on his feet.
"But he did call you?"
"Yes. He is alive and safe, but he needs a bit of time. It seems that someone didn't put that much care into his safety as we were led to believe."
O'Leary had the grace to sound slightly chastised.
"There was some small... issue. But I assure you that sergeant Davis had all the backing he needed."
"Oh right. All the backing. That's why he was stabbed?" Lawson barked into the phone.
More silence and Lawson gritted his teeth. Damn, how he wished to get his hands on O'Leary.
"That was an unfortunate accident I'm afraid. Despite that, sergeant Davis handled himself well and made a terrible contribution to the case."
"I bet he did," Lawson all but growled. "Being your punching bag."
O'Leary cleared his throat.
"Are you sure you don't have information on sergeant Davis' current location? I want to remind you that this case is important and we do need his statement."
"Oh, his statement? And here I thought you were worried about his well being."
"Superintendent Lawson-"
"Chief-Superintendent for you O'Leary," Lawson spat, his hand gripping the cradle of the phone so hard his knuckles went white.
"Chief-Superintendent... I realize you are a bit upset about this whole situation-"
"I don't think you know what it means to be a 'bit upset'."
"In any case... I do need to talk to Sergeant Davis."
"And you will. Once he will be up for it."
"And when will that be?" O'Leary asked, clearly realizing there was no going around Lawson on the matter.
"I will call you and let you know. Or he will. Until then... I was told sergeant Johnson had taken his full statement. I doubt you will need much more for the next few days."
"That's hardly up to you to decide!" O'Leary snapped back, losing his own patience.
"No, it's actually up to sergeant Davis. So I repeat... I will call you in few days. Until then... I'd appreciate it if you stopped bothering his family with stupid questions. I already had to spend half an hour reassuring his mother that her son isn't lying dead in some alley, shot like his father. Because some bloody idiot scared her half to death."
"For all I know he could have been at that point, Chief Superintendent," O'Leary all but spat out. "Not my fault your sergeant can't make a simple call."
Lawson had to grit his teeth to stop himself from unleashing a barrage of curses onto O'Leary's parentage. Instead, he took a deep breath and counted to ten. It always worked with Blake.
"I'm warning you O'Leary. If I hear that you so much as breathed a word to sergeant Davis's mother, I will personally find you and make your life a living hell. Trust me, I have plenty of practice dealing with pains in the ass. You wouldn't like the results."
"Are you threatening me?"
"No. Just a friendly warning. And I better not see you around my town until I give you that call either, understood?"
"You have no right to tell me what to do!"
"I have if it involves my people!" Lawson barked into the phone. "And you should have realized that before sending one of my man to play bait in a bloody fighting ring!"
O'Leary was already sputtering something about Lawson not having any jurisdiction over him, when Lawson slammed down the cradle and ended the call.
He didn't have patience for bloody idiots. He said his piece after all and if O'Leary knew what was best for him, he would heed his warning. Now whether the same applied to the man who made the initial order will have to be seen. But that wasn't something he could address without first finding out more about the case. Which would most likely have to wait until Charlie was able of answering a few more questions.
'One down, one to go,' Lawson thought idly and shot a look towards the hall. All was quiet. He couldn't hear any screaming or urgent voices, so that was good he supposed. For a moment he debated whether to leave this call for tomorrow, but then decided against it. He wanted to hear Johnson... wanted to get a picture of the man. He needed to know if he should be on his radar too... as a person to watch out for in the oncoming days.
So with a bit less anger, Lawson smoothed out the crumpled piece of paper and dialled the number. This time it took a lot longer for the other end to pick up. So long that Lawson was about ready to hang up before he heard a grumbled 'Hello?'
"Sergeant Johnson?" he asked, shooting a look at the clock. It was shortly past nine but that was hardly late. Unless one had spent the last night at a stake out.
"Who's this?" Johnson's voice was still sleepy, but there was a certain note of wariness in it. Good. Lawson would have thought him stupid if he wasn't vary of strange callers.
"Charlie's friend," he introduced himself, showing no hesitation. Friend or boss... what did it matter. Johnson didn't need to know the details.
There was momentary silence on the other end, before a wide awake voice replied:
"I expected Charlie to call."
"Well, I expected Charlie to get back in unharmed. Seems like we can't always have what we want," Lawson barked.
"Is he alright?" Johnson asked, forgoing the jab.
Lawson felt a bit of relief upon hearing genuine concern in the man's voice.
"He will be," he said with a bit less bite. "No thanks to you obviously."
"I did what I could," Johnson said wearily. "There's only so much one can do, when things keep fucking up."
Lawson's eyes narrowed at that.
"What do you mean?"
More silence.
"Sergeant Johnson. I asked you a question."
"Yes. But seeing as you didn't introduce yourself as my superior, I find myself lacking the need to answer it," Johnson bit back with equal snark.
Lawson cringed.
Of course... for all Johnson knew, he could've been Charlie's drinking buddy. Or a guy that caught him on the way home.
"Alright," Lawson said with more calmness than he felt. "I can appreciate you not blabbering sensitive information to the first guy who calls. But I will expect more answers once Charlie is back on his feet."
"And I am more than willing to give them to him," Johnson said. "Only to him."
Lawson snorted. He couldn't help but appreciate Johnson's straightforwardness.
"Expect a call in a day or two then. And Johnson?"
"Yes sir?" Johnson reacted, letting on that he knew Lawson wasn't just a friend, more likely a superior.
"Watch your back too. I have a feeling you didn't get all the snakes there."
Johnson sighed.
"Yes, I'm starting to think the same."
That more than anything confirmed Lawson's suspicions that something had indeed gone wrong on the higher level. Any other conversation though had to wait. He could hear the door to the surgery open.
Without much pleasantries, he hung up the phone and turned towards the incomer.
It was Blake. Looking haggard and with unidentified spots on his shirt. Without a word, the man headed towards the bar and poured himself a stiff one, downing it in one shot.
"How is he?" Lawson asked, trying to surmise the answer before it came. Blake seemed concerned, but not overtly so. Jean was nowhere to be seen and there was no rush in his movements. No panic.
"With some luck and care he should be fine. In time."
Lawson raised a brow.
"Since when do you count on luck as medical treatment?"
"Luck or antibiotics, call it what you want," Blake said, waving with his now empty glass. He looked at the bottle longingly, but just like Lawson seemed to forego it.
"Is he asleep now or can I talk to him?"
Blake shook his head.
"He's asleep and most likely won't be up for serious conversation for a while."
"That bad?" Lawson frowned and Blake gave him a shrug.
"His fever is bound to get worse with that infected leg. To top it off, he is showing signs of concussion. So I wouldn't expect much sense out of him."
Lawson clenched his teeth. This made things a bit more complicated. He was hoping to get more information out of Charlie so he had the next day or two to figure out what was going on. How much danger was Charlie still in.
"You sure you can handle this here?" Lawson asked, seeing how Blake looked down at his shirt, pausing as he just noticed the spots of what was most likely Charlie's blood.
"For now," Blake muttered. "If he gets septic, I don't care who is after him, I'm taking him to the hospital. Even if I shall stay there with him standing guard."
"Let's hope it doesn't go so far then," Lawson said with a sigh. Blake looked up at him with a frown.
"You think he has a reason to be this paranoid?"
Lawson shrugged.
"O'Leary is too pushy and Johnson seems... paranoid as well. That means something's going on. I'd rather keep Charlie's whereabouts under wraps until he can give us all the answers we need."
Blake nodded in agreement, his eyes turning towards the surgery thoughtfully.
"You done torturing him?" Lawson asked.
Blake shot him a glare.
"It was hardly my intention. But yes... I'm done for now."
"And you going to leave him there or need help getting him upstairs?"
"Actually, I was thinking we could use your room for a day. Until he is more stable at least. I don't want him upstairs."
Lawson sighed. He was expecting the reply.
"Alright. I suppose I can take the couch-"
Blake rolled his eyes.
"Don't be stupid. Charlie's room is already made up."
"Well then... I shall tidy up mine as well. And while I am at it, maybe you could get changed. I'd rather not keep staring at my sergeant's blood during the night vigil."
Lawson didn't wait for a reply and headed towards his room. He was pretty sure Jean would want to change the bed sheets and clean it up. Right now though he knew she would be better served keeping an eye on Charlie. Not to mention, a bit of busy work sounded actually like a good distraction.
Lawson remembered his army days and so by the time he finished, his bed looked like from a prospect. The bed sheet was taunt as a spring, edges tucked in. Lawson doubted Charlie will appreciate the effort, but at least it gave him some sense of satisfaction. He had a feeling he would need every little drop in the following days.
When he returned to the living room, Blake was coming down the stairs, thankfully changed into clean clothes.
"Hid all the naughty magazines?" he asked with a smirk while Lawson rolled his eyes.
"You mean the ones you left behind?"
"I don't have a clue what you're talking about," Blake said airily.
Lawson snorted, but the bout of good mood evaporated as soon as his eyes strayed towards the surgery. Blake saw it and gave him a pat on the shoulder.
„We will make sure he'll be fine," he said assuredly.
„Like we did these last two weeks?" Lawson snapped, then shook his head. It was hardly Blake's fault... or his own. That didn't mean he didn't feel some level of guilt over not even suspecting. He should have known. He should have known the first time Charlie's mother called to inquire about him that things weren't as they seemed. But he let it pass then. For what reason, he wasn't sure. Or maybe he just didn't want to think about it.
„Let's focus on the present, shall we?" Blake spoke and Lawson nodded. There was time for recriminations later. Preferably when Charlie was awake and ready to hear them too.
„I'm going to check on him, give Jean a bit of a break. Then I will tell you whatever Charlie left out this second time around. Sounds good?"
„Splendid," Lawson admitted. He followed Blake towards the surgery, lingering by the door. Charlie was asleep, bundled up in the blanket. He could see he was shivering still and there was a light sheen of sweat on his face. Jean was there, putting a cold compress on his forehead. She had managed to clean up the room from all the mess and if not for the bruises covering Charlie's face and the IV sneaking from under the covers, it would've looked as if he just caught the flu.
Blake walked over to his wife, his hands rubbing her shoulders and whispering something into her ear. She smiled up at him lovingly and nodded.
Lawson decided to retreat back to the living room. That second glass of whiskey sounded to be just what he needed.
It was startling how the most jarring thing about Charlie weren't the bruises but the stubble and the unkempt hair. She had seen Charlie beaten up before, sick or tired, but never unshaven. Combined with the dark circles under his eyes it made him look much older, more beaten up by life. It wasn't how she wanted to see him though and she hoped that with some care he could get back to his old self quickly.
As if sensing her thoughts, Charlie grimaced. He was getting restless.
Jean leaned forward and ran her hand over his cheek, half to sooth, half to check his temperature. He felt warm, despite the cold compress on his forehead. She knew that things would most likely get worse before they got better. She had seen that plenty of times before. With a sigh, she looked at the clock. Ten minutes to midnight.
Three hours since Charlie had fallen into slumber. Except for an occasional mutter of a word or two, he was silent and relatively calm. With his growing restlessness though she suspected the painkillers were running out.
His brow twitched more often, eyes moving rapidly under the eyelids. Jean knew he would most likely wake up soon.
Lucien and Matthew were still in the living room. She had ventured there a few times when Charlie seemed to be resting peacefully. She listened to their conversation, about illegal fighting rings. About drugs and worse of all, corrupt cops who were to blame for Charlie's state.
There wasn't much she could add, except for the occasional note of disgust over it all. She decided that keeping Charlie company would serve better. At least there she could offer some comfort and remind herself that despite all she heard in the last few hours, Charlie was safe at home with them.
So she returned to him, with a book that lay mostly ignored on the desk. She could hardly focus on the novel, her thoughts jumping between the past hours and what will follow in the next few days. She wished they could call Charlie's mother and reassure her that he was fine. After all... Jean had two sons. She knew what it was like not to know of their whereabouts, what it was like to hear bad news and worry. It didn't matter that they were adults with own children. For all she cared, they could be sixty years old and she would still worry. To know that something was wrong but be unable to help... that was hell.
These thoughts made her feel all the more determined to see Charlie through. So she sat on the chair that stopped being comfortable after the first twenty minutes. She kept changing the cold compress on his head and occasionally tucked in his arm when it slipped off the bed.
"How is he doing?"
Jean turned and her face relaxed into a smile. Lucien walked up to her and rubbed her shoulders soothingly. He leaned down for a kiss and she was relieved when she smelled coffee on his breath instead of the whiskey.
"You planning on staying awake?" she asked as they parted, receiving a nod.
"I'll try at least. Today was a long day."
"The night will feel even longer," she noted with a sigh. "His fever isn't coming down."
Blake reached out to check for himself, then nodded.
"I didn't expect it to this soon. The antibiotics need some time to work and he was pretty run down."
"But they should work?"
"Let's hope so. Why don't you let me take over? Get some sleep."
Jean shook her head.
"You need to get rest too. You have several patients scheduled for the morning and early afternoon. I might be able to call off one or two, but not all of them at this point."
Blake sighed, running a hand over his brows.
"Yes, of course. I'll manage, don't worry."
She worried though. She knew her husband and knew he wouldn't really rest until Charlie was out of the woods. Even if it meant staying up for the next two days. Unfortunately, a tired Lucien wasn't the easiest to deal with and she had a feeling things won't go smoothly. Not to mention there was still the chance that he would be needed on a case.
"Maybe we can take shifts then? Your first patient won't arrive until ten. I can do with four hours of sleep and you would get some rest too."
"That's not-" necessary, she knew he wanted to say that. But she looked up at him imploringly and he paused. "-a bad idea," he finished then with a twitch of his lips.
"Wonderful. I'll set the alarm then." She stood from the chair, leaving it for him. She looked at Charlie and saw his face turn into a grimace of discomfort. His lips moved and his breath sped up. The compress slipped off and down to the bed as he tossed his head from side to side, getting more and more agitated.
"I think he's having a nightmare," she said and Blake nodded. "Should we wake him?"
Blake was already giving Charlie's face a light pat.
"Charlie? Wake up," he called out, keeping his voice neutral.
It took a bit of coaxing, but Charlie's eyes fluttered open. He looked most of all confused, as if unable to process where he was or what was happening. He instinctively recoiled from Blake's touch, which sent him closer to the edge of the bed. Jean realized that if he got startled, he would most likely try and pull back more, resulting in a fall.
"It's alright Charlie, you're home. You're safe," she said soothingly and Charlie's eyes turned her way. They were bright from fever, the blue darker than usual, the left one red from the bruising on his temple.
"Jean?" he spoke, his voice painfully croaky. "Doc?" his brows furrowed. He looked around, noticing the surgery and somehow unable to put all of it together.
"What... what's going on?" he asked and the confusion was now mixed with growing panic.
Blake put a calming hand on his shoulder to keep him from getting up.
"Everything's alright, don't worry. You were having a nightmare so we thought better to wake you up."
Charlie blinked.
"What?"
Jean gently nudged Lucien to sit down in the chair. After all, no one liked people towering over them, especially when they were sick. Lucien caught on and sat down, while Jean moved to the other side of Charlie's bed so she could take hold of his hand and try to calm him down that way.
"Do you remember what happened?" Lucien asked and they waited several long seconds. Charlie's frown deepened as he was trying to figure it out, but then it was as if a light bulb went off.
"Oh. I'm home," he said and the wariness had visibly left his body.
"Indeed you are," Blake said with a smile. "How are you feeling?"
Charlie grimaced as he contemplated the answer. In the end he just sighed.
"That good huh?"
"Still cold," Charlie muttered, pulling the blanket higher up. He tried to turn onto his side and pull his legs closer to his body, but the narrow bed and the various pains stopped him mid movement. Jean could see how miserable he was and she felt like hugging him. Of course that probably wouldn't have helped any.
"Maybe he would feel better in a real bed?" she asked softly, aiming her question at Blake. She thought that he might also be more comfortable keeping Charlie company in the bedroom where the chairs were softer.
"Yes please," Charlie caught on before Blake could protest. He rolled his eyes.
"Well, how can I refuse both of you?"
Jean smiled.
"Do you feel up to the trip?" Blake asked Charlie with a raised eyebrows.
Charlie nodded. He looked determined to be out of the surgery and on a more familiar turf. His enthusiasm however lasted only so long as he threw off the blanket. His body was wrecked in shivers and he looked down at the cut up pants. He haven't noticed before but one side was marred with dried up blood.
Charlie grimaced in disgust.
"Need clothes," he muttered, tugging at the waist of the pants to try and peel away the dirty material.
"Why don't you take those off? I'll bring you something clean in the meantime," Jean said and Charlie's eyes shot up, his pale cheeks getting just a flush of redness.
Jean rolled her eyes, barely hiding a chuckle.
"Come on now, don't be shy. I raised two boys. You hardly have anything I haven't seen before."
Blake chortled and Jean paused. Well, she probably could've said it better.
Charlie was staring at her wide eyed and it would've been comical if not for the stark bruises on his skin.
"Now now dear... that's hardly something any man wants to hear," Blake added and got a slap on the arm in response.
"Lucien! Get your head out of the gutter! Charlie... you know what I meant."
Charlie swallowed and nodded. The crimson still hadn't left his cheeks though. Jean took pity on him.
"Oh alright. I'm going, so you can have some privacy. Any preferred clothing?"
"Pants only," Blake noted. "Short ones. Will be easier to keep an eye on that leg."
Jean nodded and headed out of the room. She heard Charlie's groan and Lucien making another teasing comment.
Truly... men. They could be like children sometimes.
She made her way up to Charlie's room, only to belatedly realize that Matthew had taken up residence there. She knocked on the door, glad to find him still awake.
"What's wrong?" Lawson asked, sitting up in the bed, ready to jump out. Jean shook her head.
"Nothing. Sorry to disturb you... I just wanted to grab some clothes for Charlie. We will move him to your room now." She walked over to the drawer and grabbed several different articles. After all, she didn't want to have to disturb Matthew every time Charlie needed a change of clothes or a pair of socks.
"Do you need some help with that?" he asked, looking at Jean's full hands.
"With picking out clothes or moving him?"
"Moving," Lawson rolled his eyes. "I am not getting anywhere near his underwear or socks. They are stored by colour. Who even does that?"
"People who don't want to grab different coloured socks early morning?"
"That's why normal folks buy only black socks."
Jean shook her head, smiling. She wasn't sure if Lawson was trying to cheer her up with a little banter or if he was doing it for his own benefit, but in either case it was helping. Finally, she had all she thought Charlie might need for the next day. If not, he could always borrow something from Matthew, she thought with an inner smirk. Lawson shot her a suspicious glare. Maybe that smirk managed to make its way on her face after all. Oh well.
She bid him good night, trying to ignore his grumbling about too soft pillows and too many blankets. Jean knew for sure that the pillows in Matthew's room were just as soft and fluffy.
She made a quick detour to the room in question, depositing the clothes on the table. She was pleasantly surprised that Matthew had changed the bed sheets and made the bed ready for Charlie. One less thing to worry about.
When she returned to the surgery, Charlie was sitting on the edge of the bed, the blanket wrapped around his shoulders and a grimace of discomfort painting his face. Blake was standing next to him, one hand offering support so that he didn't fall over.
"Ah, here you are. Charlie was debating whether his shyness was more important than getting to the bathroom."
Charlie cringed then shot Blake a glare. Jean gave him a look of understanding, pointedly ignoring her husband.
"Here you go Charlie," she handed him the knee short pants. Charlie took them, though he looked like he was fresh out of energy. It was clear he didn't feel like bending over or rising his leg. But he also wasn't about to give up and walk out in his underwear, even though it would have hardly mattered. Blake seemed to take pity on him at least. He offered his help and Jean decided to give them some privacy by turning around, even though the soft cursing and occasional grunt from both men made her question the wisdom of that. Finally there was a relieved sigh and when she turned, Charlie was half standing, half leaning against the bed. His face was flushed, this time from exertion and he looked ready to lie down.
"If you want to try this later, it's no problem," Blake spoke but Charlie shook his head.
"No. Bathroom," he grumbled and Blake gave a nod of understanding.
"Alright then. Here, let me help," he navigated Charlie's left arm around his shoulders, supporting his injured side. Jean quickly stepped beside them, taking hold of the bottle attached through the IV. She had her hand poised over Charlie's back, but didn't touch him unless he faltered.
The way to the bathroom was slow and had both Jean and Blake grimace in sympathy. Charlie was breathing heavily and looked dismayed about the fact. Of course once they reached the bathroom door, he tried to push away from Blake but found out he was still tethered to the IV and had trouble staying upright without any support.
"Uh... thanks, I'll just..." Charlie reached out for the bottle in her hand, determined to see this through.
Jean opened her mouth to protest, but stayed silent. After all, there were things she was sure Charlie wouldn't live down. Blake rolled his eyes, grabbed the bottle before Charlie could and nudged the man inside.
"I'll take care of this," he said to Jean. "Could you please make sure there's some water in the room?"
Jean nodded, happy to leave the boys to it. She could hear Charlie's protest over Blake's presence, but Lucien shut him up quickly with an argument about not wanting to pick him up from the bathroom floor with another concussion.
Jean rolled her eyes. Really, men. Was it so hard to accept some help?
By the time Charlie and Lucien made it to the room, it looked as if Charlie was already asleep and moving only on instinct. Jean helped Lucien situate him on the bed and nudged the glass of water to Charlie's lips when he looked around in confusion.
He took a few sips, then closed his eyes before either of them could urge him to sleep.
"It's okay, he needs the sleep," Blake assured her when she looked at him with concern. "I doubt he got much sleep in the last few days."
"I wish he would've called us," Jean sighed, tucking the blanket up over Charlie's shoulders, ignoring the slightly amused look Blake shot her at that.
"He had his reasons not to," he said with a shrug. Jean knew he would be the one most understanding, with all the secret operations in his past. It still irked her however.
"He's not a spy, Lucien. He wanted to be a detective. Not let some asshole beat him half to death," she said in a low tone, not wanting to disturb Charlie but also unable to hide her own emotions.
Blake reached out and pulled her into his embrace.
"He did what he thought was necessary. He's back now, that's what's important," he said soothingly and Jean let out a sigh. She was still mad but it was late and really... Lucien wasn't the one deserving her ire. Maybe Charlie... a little bit, for risking his life like that. But one look at his sleeping form chased the thought out of her head. He had already paid the price. She wouldn't be the one to give him a lecture or question his decisions. After all, she was pretty sure Matthew or Lucien will have a word or two about the matter with Charlie once he was feeling better. For now, they had to focus on getting him back to his feet.
Her husband had pulled up a chair and leaned back, grabbing the first book he found on Lawson's bedside table for further perusal. It just happened to be Edgar Allan Poe's short stories. Blake had already read those but Jean supposed there were worse ways to spend the next few hours.
"Do you want me to bring you something?" she asked as he looked up from the book.
"The bottle of whiskey from the living room?" he teased.
"I think the two of you had mostly finished it tonight," she replied even as Blake shook his head.
"It's alright. I think me and my book are all set, thank you dear. Go get some sleep."
She leaned down and gave him a kiss, then headed up for the bed. It would be harder to fall asleep with the other side empty, but the look at the clock and the realization it would ring in only few hours made her close her eyes anyway.
It was a long night. Jean didn't get much sleep, but she assumed no one really did. When her alarm started ringing at four in the morning, she almost threw a pillow on it. Yawning, she took a few minutes to wake up properly, then put on her robe and walked to Matthew's room.
She found Lucien cleaning up some supplies. Charlie appeared to be sleeping restlessly, his brow furrowed and mouth moving occasionally.
"How is he?" she asked as Lucien turned towards her, eyes tired and reddish in the light of the bedside lamp. He still put on a smile.
"Holding on. I changed the wrap on his leg, he got a dose of meds. He should be good till morning."
Jean walked up to Blake, running a hand up and down his arm, then resting her palm on his face.
"You should go get some sleep too. I'll wake you if anything happens."
Lucien gave her palm a kiss and nodded.
"Keep an eye on that fever if you can," he said, giving Charlie one last look. A yawn split his face and he shook his head.
"Lucien," she said pointedly and he raised his hands in surrender.
"I'm going, am going."
She stood in place until he truly left, then turned her attention back to Charlie. A quick touch told her the fever was still there, so she took the lukewarm compress from his forehead, dipped it in the basin and wrung it out.
"What shall we do with you, Charlie?" she muttered softly as she ran the cloth first over his face to clean up the sweat.
Charlie didn't reply, though he did turn his head slightly. Jean sighed, unable to pester him even in his sleep. She finished her ministrations, for the moment content to lean back in the chair and watch the time pass by.
The morning couldn't come fast enough.
Jean found herself nodding off on occasion, so she brought her knitting into the room. It was a better way to spend time than looking at the blasted stubble on Charlie's face or counting the wrinkles around his eyes when he grimaced, caught in the midst of a nightmare.
She spoke to him whenever that happened, running her hand over his hair in an attempt to sooth. She changed the water in the basin for fresh one and had to deal with Charlie's mumbled protests over it being too cold. Eventually he settled down.
By the time morning came and the rest of the house began waking up, Charlie seemed to be sleeping almost peacefully. She dared to leave his side long enough to prepare some coffee and a quick breakfast for Matthew and Lucien, even though the latter would wake up later.
"Slept well?" she asked when Matthew sauntered downstairs, grumbling about the stupid bed. He shot her one glance, saw the tired look on her face and clammed up shut.
"Probably better than you," he admitted, nodding his thanks as she handed him a cup of steaming hot coffee, while she sat down with her own cup. "How's Charlie?"
"Asleep," she said, unable to give him a better answer. She wasn't sure what happened to the young sergeant during the last two weeks, well... not exactly sure. His description of the events seemed to omit more than a few details. However, his restlessness and the occasional word or two he uttered during his sleep made her think that Charlie would need more than just few days to shake this off.
"What are your plans for the day?" she asked Matthew while he was gruffly looking at his breakfast plate, seemingly lost in contemplation.
"You mean except for the usual work load?"
Jean snorted and Lawson sighed.
"I'll have to call a friend and make some... subtle inquiries. I would go through the official channels, but I'm afraid that might endanger Charlie at this moment."
Jean frowned.
"Do you really think he could be in danger, here in Ballarat?"
Lawson shrugged.
"I don't know. But based on how desperate O'Leary seems to get his hands on him... I think this goes pretty high. Better safe than sorry."
"Should I be on the lookout for strangers around the house?"
"Seeing as you married one of the biggest trouble magnets in this town, I'd say that should go without saying," Lawson said with a grin and Jean rolled her eyes.
"I'd advise carefulness, but no need to panic."
"I never panic," she stated matter of factly. "With Lucien around, I would have to be in constant panic after all."
Lawson chuckled, raising his cup of coffee in agreement.
After Lawson left for work, Jean went to check on Charlie. He was in the same position she left him, though he was visibly sweating now. She crinkled her nose and decided to change his sheets as soon as he woke up. A quick temperature check showed that it was down almost half a degree. Jean allowed herself to relax some.
The morning seemed to pass by quickly after she woke up Lucien. The first patient appeared and she had to focus between manning the phone, taking appointments, preparing lunch and looking in at Charlie every so often.
She was in the middle of peeling the veggies for the chicken soup. Broth was always her go to food when someone in the family got sick. And even though Charlie wasn't coming down with the flu, she was sure he would need to build up his strength anyway after that fever. She was softly humming a tune, cutting up the last carrot, when she heard the crash.
Jean froze, for a second thinking it must've come from the surgery. But that was two doors down and this sounded closer. Like the room where their wayward tenant was currently residing.
Jean put down the knife and the carrot, turned the fire down under the pot and dashed towards Charlie's room.