Title: Shall We Play A Game?
Author: FraidyCat
Disclaimer: per diem
Invitation: Remember, this is the readers' story. Please keep playing. You can suggest plot devices or twists; or, perhaps you have a favorite line you've always wanted to see in fanfic. Tell me what it is, and I will try to work it in. It might take me a few chapters to find a natural insertion point, so keep watching. (I'm fairly certain Charlie will cry in his boxers sooner or later.)
A/N: Ah, my little minions. Here I was, all ready to wipe the floor with Alan, who as an elderly person is more susceptible to illness – but few of you agree with me. The tribe has spoken, and your wish is my command: Alan will survive. It was also kind of you to ignore my obvious faux pas – poor Sarah works from breakfast through closing? Forgive me. I will take a moment to deal with that, but it may be in the next chapter.
guffaw… Our Story Continues…
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Chapter Four: You Give Me Fever
Colby stood again so that Alan could sit next to Charlie while Don tried to decide what to do. He stated the obvious. "You need to go home, Dad."
Alan held a handkerchief to his mouth while he sneezed, and shook his head behind it. He was frowning when he lowered his hand. "I want to stay with Charlie," he protested in a voice almost as painful to hear as it must be to use. Sick as he was, Charlie's silence had not escaped Alan's attention, and he glanced at him worriedly now.
Don sighed. "Dad, you know they're not going to let you anywhere near him when you're sick yourself."
Charlie suddenly animated, and moved weakly in the hard plastic chair. "Let's all go home," he suggested breathily. "They'll end up sending me there, too. I can just do whatever they told Dad." He coughed once, drily. "This chair hurts." Both his father and brother objected at once, and he squeezed his eyes shut as if they were ears. "My head," he whispered.
Colby had seen enough. Sometimes, a junior agent just had to step into the role of command. He moved to the front of Alan's chair and wrapped his hand around the older man's upper arm. "I'll take Alan home," he announced. He tugged lightly on the arm. "He will give me those papers and I'll take care of whatever it says he's supposed to do. Fill prescriptions. Set-up the humidifier. Get some of that awesome chicken soup he always keeps in the freezer out to thaw. Whatever." His eyes roamed over Charlie's drawn face and then settled on Don's. "You'll stay with Charlie as long as it takes. I'll tuck in Dad and wait at the Craftsman for you."
Despite his misery, Alan fairly beamed as he looked up. "Did you just call me 'Dad'?"
A snort of laughter erupted from Don, and Colby rolled his eyes and let go of Alan's arm. "Just keep it planted for a few, Dad. I'll bring the car around."
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Marcus arrived early for his shift. It was exciting to walk thru the busy ER. If this was any indication of what the Brucella could do after just two weeks, there could indeed be a final toll in the thousands. Especially after he released more of the particularly virulent strain of the bacteria tonight. After another two weeks of incubation, hospital staff and roaming visitors would begin to drop. Patients, already weakened by whatever brought them here, would probably be affected right away.
It was delicious, the damage a simple bacteria could do when released in the right place.
He used his keys to let himself into the room that held the janitorial and housekeeping carts. Some were out on the floor in use, of course – an acceptable loss. The bulk of the staff worked at night, however, when the hospital was quieter, its traffic somewhat calmer. He carefully locked the door again and pulled the rubber gloves from his back pocket; from the other pocket, a surgical mask. When he was sufficiently protected, he opened the small, brown lunch bag he had carried through the corridors of the hospital. There were four vials.
He had been part of the crew who worked on the milk, so experience helped him move quickly. One at a time, he moved each cart to the large sink at the back of the room. He worked efficiently. First, he dumped each spray bottle's disinfectant down the drain. Then, he rinsed the containers with water for a few seconds. Next, Marcus ran fresh water to the halfway, or three-quarter mark. All the bottles must appear to have different amounts of the cleaner inside; things should look the way people expected – if only on a subconscious level. Finally, he added the Brucella. The disinfectant that remained in the bottle would dilute the bacteria; but it was such a pure, strong, sample -- born and bred in a lab toiling under a government contract to develop a vaccine -- that enough damage would be done anyway.
There was not enough for every bottle, but it was an added insurance policy that no disinfectant would be used in any area of the hospital tonight. Natural bacteria already present would thrive and multiply and contribute to the general mayhem. Thinking about it was almost…orgasmic.
Marcus had just finished, discarding the gloves and mask – reminding himself to don the second set before he actually began his shift – when there was a noise at the door and a key turned the knob. He glanced around quickly, looking for anything out of place. Finding nothing, he was pretending to button the top of his jumpsuit when the door swung open to admit James, who worked swing shift. He started to push his cart inside, and his eyes widened almost comically when he saw Marcus. "Dude!" The eyes narrowed in suspicion immediately. "Whachoo doin' in here? Yer shift don't start fer tree more hours!"
Marcus winked and smoothed his hair. He craned his neck as if attempting to see beyond James. "Did you see her, man? That hot little number from x-ray?"
Suspicion and confusion melted into lasciviousness. "Damn. The one don't wear no underthings?"
Marcus grinned. "Oh, yeah. Baby, this hospital is gonna be hot tonight!"
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Alan yawned and watched Colby set a glass of water and a tin of throat lozenges on the bedside table, next to a bottle of acetomeniphen. A humidifier hummed steadily in the corner. "Need anything else, Alan?"
He smiled sleepily. "I liked it when you called me 'Dad'."
Colby toed the carpet, embarrassed – but he grinned at his shoes. He looked up and cleared his throat. "Yeah. Well…I'll go get that soup out of the freezer. You get some rest."
Alan yawned again. "Have some ice cream," he offered. "Charlie has been mentoring a young man in South L.A. – met him at that citywide high school science fair, I think…." He wrinkled his brow in confusion. "Why did I tell you that?"
Colby grinned again at the lost look on Alan's face. "Ice cream?" he guessed.
Alan's face cleared. "Oh! Oh, right. He's found a diner over there he really likes – Bernie's. Took me to breakfast a couple of Saturdays ago. They make homemade ice cream, and he brought back some strawberry the last time he stopped there for dinner. Help yourself."
Colby paused at the door to turn out the overhead bedroom light. "Thanks, Alan. Maybe I will. Call if you need anything."
"Thank-you, Colby," Alan murmured sleepily. "You're a good son."
Granger grinned all the way down the stairs.
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The trauma bay was just too inundated. By the time Charlie was finally called back to exam, family members – with the exception of the parents of very young children – were no longer allowed access to the exam cubicles. Don was forced to stay in the waiting area.
It was still fairly crowded, and he was more than willing to give up his chair, and pace for awhile. Charlie was taken away from him at 7 p.m. At 8 he stepped just outside the main ER entrance long enough to turn on his cell and call Colby. He didn't answer his cell, which unnerved the tightly-strung Don to no end, but he finally got him to pick up the landline at the Craftsman. The younger agent assured him that his father was already sleeping soundly, and everything was under control at the house. Still, Don wasn't happy about the hospital sending his father home. If he had felt badly enough to come to the ER in the first place, Don knew that Alan was sick. When all of this was over, they were going to have quite a talk, too. Alan must have taken a taxi to the ER, rather than trying to contact either of his sons – no doubt loathe to disturb them at work. There would be no more of that sort of nonsense if Don had anything to say about it.
Don took another seat in the waiting area for a few minutes, but soon got antsy and started pacing again. Around 9, Don planted himself near the water cooler, where he could watch the doors between him and his brother. If the hospital tried to say Charlie was well enough to go home also, Don might have to get ugly. Sure, it was probably just the flu – but sometimes, influenza still killed people. Don wasn't about to let that happen; not to anyone who was his responsibility. He had already decided that he was taking a personal day tomorrow, team short-handed or not. First thing in the morning he was contacting Alan's personal physician. He wanted a second opinion.
It was nearly 10 before a clearly exhausted doctor emerged long enough to inform him that Charlie had a temperature of 104.6, and would indeed be admitted. Don was at once relieved and terrified. "That's…really high," he said nervously. "Are you starting antibiotics?"
The doctor shook his head. "Influenza is a viral URI, son, antibiotics won't help with that. We want to keep him on IV fluids for a while to deal with the dehydration, treat his aches and pains with Tylenol®. Frankly, if his fever was not quite so pronounced, we'd probably send him home."
Don glared at the attending. "Then you'd better damn well be glad it is," he growled.
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Don was not allowed to see Charlie again. He would have stayed at the hospital and fought the decision, but he was in the uncomfortable position of having to choose his battles. He needed to get home to his father.
He was at the Craftsman by 11. He tried to talk Colby into spending the night in the guest room, but soon found out why the agent had not answered his cell phone earlier – he had lost it. "Did you see it in the chairs in the hospital waiting room?" Granger asked. "I've searched all over the house – went out to the car – I'm thinking it must have fallen out of my pocket there."
Don shook his head. "I'd have asked if I knew…" he started.
Colby interrupted him. "Didn't know it was missing myself until you told me I wasn't answering. Hell, I'll just go by the hospital on my way home and check at the ER desk. Maybe somebody turned it in."
Don rolled his neck, and made a bitter sound of resignation. "If they did," he warned, "you'd better dip it in disinfectant before you use it again."
Colby laughed, recommended a bowl of Charlie's ice cream for relaxation purposes – it was great stuff – and left for the hospital.
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A/N: Ooooooooh…Colby ate some ice cream…AND he is on his way back to the hospital, where he will arrive during the night shift, while every custodian is spraying Brucella… Will he somehow figure out that everything is not normal? Will he expose Marcus and Planet Green? Will Don also eat some ice cream? Will the two agents spend the entire two-week incubation period trying to discover who has done this dastardly deed while fighting symptoms themselves? Will Charlie or Alan recover enough to help? Where is Amita, Larry, and/or Millie?
I can't wait to see what you do next…