Hello! New chapter, yay! Thanks to all my wonderful readers who are still with me. Please read and review!

Chapter 6 (Don)

By the time he returned to his room after his third day of therapy, Don felt sweaty, exhausted, and sick. At this rate, his unborn child would be a teenager by the time Don was strong and mobile enough to leave the hospital.

Robin was waiting for him when he got back. As he was settled back into bed, he looked longingly up at his wife. She'd been gone an hour ago when he'd left for therapy—she'd been at her latest prenatal exam. Don had wanted so badly to go with her. It wasn't like he'd attended all her other doctor's visits, just some, because he'd often been busy with work. But somehow it stung this time, largely because he was stuck in the hospital and couldn't go.

It was just yet another reminder of how difficult the whole thing was. It was another reminder of how ridiculously hard it was going to be to support his wife as she gave birth to their child; of how difficult it was going to be to be a new father of a newborn baby in his current condition.

He put a smile on his face, though. It was the only way he really knew how to cope.

"Hey, sweetheart," he greeted. "How did your appointment with the baby doc go?"

Robin smiled back at him, using one hand to grab his and laying the other one on her belly. "It went fine. Doctor said everything looks great. Only a few more weeks now."

Don sighed, but squeezed Robin's hand. "It's unbelievable."

Robin nodded. "So, how was physical therapy?"

Don grunted in response.

"That bad, huh?" she winced sympathetically.

Don sighed, but then he nodded. He supposed there was really no way to hide his frustration about it, not really. "Yeah, this is going to take forever."

"I know how lame this sounds," said Robin, "but you just have to be patient, Don. This is after all, only your third day. No one expects you to hop out of bed and be ready to go. You were sick for a while, you haven't gained back all your strength yet."

"You're right," Don conceded. "That sounds pretty lame. And I don't expect me to hop out of bed and be ready to go either. I just—it would be nice if I could leave this room for more than a few minutes at a time without becoming so . . . exhausted, you know?"

"I know," Robin soothed while absently played with his hand. "And I know that you're probably more frustrated and upset than you've been telling us. And it's okay, Don."

Real subtle, Robin, Don thought uncharitably. He didn't say anything; he just sat there and concentrating on breathing in and out before he lost control of himself. He couldn't afford to lose control—he feared he'd never get it back.

He suddenly became aware that Robin was rubbing his arm tenderly, lovingly. It felt good, and Don was just so tired. So exhausted. A lump formed in his throat—where had that come from? He swallowed and shut his eyes.

"Don?" came Robin's soft voice. "Hey, Don, are you all right?"

He opened his eyes, which he was dismayed to note felt wetter than usual, and looked up at his wife. "Yeah," he breathed. He blinked a couple times, hoping to clear the burning sensation. "I'm all right."

"Oh, Don," Robin sighed. She got up and then sat herself down on the bed next to Don, slinging an arm around his shoulders and neck. She leaned down as far as her pregnant belly would allow so as to whisper in Don's ear. "I cannot even begin to imagine what this is like for you, you know? I can't imagine what must be going through your head, how you must be feeling, how exhausting it must be. At this point, I'd say you're pretty much entitled to feel anything—no one's going to think any less of you for it."

He had to give Robin something, some tidbit of information on his current state, or else she'd keep asking and then he'd lose it completely.

"I can't," he croaked out. "I can't let myself feel too much about it at all, or I'll never be able to handle it."

Robin nodded in understanding. Don breathed a silent sigh of relief. He appreciated Robin's efforts. He couldn't tell her that they were hurting more than helping, though; he didn't want to hurt her feelings.

He leaned back, letting his head rest against her arm.

"I'm so sorry, sweetie," Robin was saying. "I'm just so sorry it had to be this way. I wish there'd been another way—I—"

Don cut her off. "No. Don't go there, okay? This is the way it is. And you shouldn't regret that, because hey, I'm still alive, right? Could be worse."

Robin scoffed. "I don't even want to think about that."

Don winced; it was easy to forget sometimes how close to the edge he'd come—how close he'd come to never making it back. At that moment, it made him feel grateful that he was where he was and not dead. At least he wasn't dead.

"Hey, look," he continued, pushing past his own emotions. "I'm going to be just fine, okay? It'll take some work, but I'll get there. Everything's going to be okay."

"Are you reassuring me or yourself?" Robin asked him, point blank.

He settled for the truth. "Both," he admitted. "Trust me, I'm scared as hell." Another wave of emotion crashed over him, and he had to take a deep breath.

They were both silent, each trying to regain control of their emotional states. Robin scooted down so she was sitting at Don's level, and she wrapped both her arms around his shoulders.

"Hey," she whispered into his ear. "Whatever you need me to do for you, just tell me, okay? I just want to do whatever I can to help you through this, okay?"

Don shook his head. He couldn't take it anymore, and the words came spilling out. "No, this isn't right. You're the one having our baby in about eight weeks. You shouldn't have to worry about taking care of me. I should be the one taking care of you." He squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head. "God damn it. This is not how it's supposed to be."

"I agree," she told him. She reached up towards his head, and began running her fingers through his messy dark hair. "This isn't how it's supposed to be. And I wish it were different, too. But you just said it yourself; this is how it is. I wish I could build you a time machine and we could go back and stop this from ever happening."

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't hold his own tears back any longer. He felt them running down his face, but Robin continued to hold him and stroke his hair.

"I just can't believe this happened." His voice broke, and he winced. "How could this be happening? And God, right now? I'm just about to become a father. And you're going to be a new mother. I don't know how I'm supposed help take care of you and the baby when I can't even take care of myself just yet."

"Oh, Don," Robin was crying now, too. "Please don't worry about that. You just help where you can, even if it's just by sitting in a chair and holding our child while she sleeps, okay?"

"I just wish we could wait a little while, you know?" he squeaked out. "I mean I know it's impossible, but I just wish the baby could stay in there a few more months. I mean, I know you don't"—that got a watery chuckle out of his wife—"but seriously. The timing here just makes it all so much worse."

"I know." She leaned her head against his.

He couldn't help it. A couple of sobs escaped his throat, beyond his control. He was grateful to Robin for just sitting there, not saying anything.

"I mean I know I'll be okay," Don eventually continued after several deep breaths. "But, it's just going to be such a long time. I don't know. I just want to know how everything got so messed up in such a short amount of time. I mean, three weeks ago, everything was . . . everything was perfect."

"I know," Robin repeated herself. "I guess this is just how life works, though. Things are good, then they're bad, but then they get good again. You know? I wonder where we'll be a year from now. We'll have a child, and by then she'll be old enough to have her own personality."

"Hey," Don interrupted. "You keep referring to the baby as a 'she'. You didn't go behind my back and find out the sex, did you?"

"No," Robin laughed. "I just have a feeling. But you know tomorrow I'll probably wake up and think she's a boy, so, who knows."

Don smiled in spite of himself. He turned his head slightly to kiss his wife's ear. His smile faded quickly, though. God, he was tired.

"And hey," Robin broke the silence. "You'll be out of here soon. I know how much you hate the hospital. That should make things look better, right?"

Don nodded, fighting back more tears that were threatening to come back in full force because he wasn't so sure that Robin was right.

"Don?" she whispered concernedly. "What is it?"

"It's just, well, you know, you're right," Don fumbled with his words. "I hate being stuck in the hospital. But the same time, it feels safer here, you know? Because as soon as I'm out of here, I'm going to have to really face—have to really face this. At least in here, I'm not living my real life anyway. Once I get out there, I'm going to have to go back to real life—but without my leg."

"You're scared," she stated. Yeah, he was scared. That was a bit of an understatement.

He just nodded and leaned further into her. Eventually, he continued talking, much to his dismay. His mouth was like a waterfall, all of a sudden, and he couldn't quite control the words that streamed out of it.

"It just blows my mind," he was saying, almost without thinking. "It's so weird. How, you know, one minute things are just great, and I'm having a good time hanging out with my brother, and then wham! I'm waking up in a hospital bed, one leg short of my normal self. And I was unconscious the whole time—everything was over and done with before I even knew about it."

"I'm so sorry, sweetie," Robin said softly, almost shamefully. "I know. You wish you could have had a little control over your own fate. I wish you could have, too."

Oh, Robin. "Hey," he said, a little more forcefully than he meant to. "You're not still feeling bad about this, are you? About, you know, giving consent for the procedure and all? What were you supposed to do? I mean, I would have done the same thing if it had been you, no doubt about it."

"I know, you're right," she said, forcing a smile. "I just would have rather not been the one to have to do it."

"Well, the last thing I need is for you to feel bad," Don told her. The last thing he needed was for anyone to feel guilty about his situation. Like Charlie. Man. Charlie. No one could even get the guy to come anywhere near here so that Don could explain to him that there was nothing to feel guilty about. It was just awful. He wondered for a brief moment if anyone else had noticed the way he expectantly looked towards the door every time it opened, secretly hoping against hope that it would be Charlie.

"Yeah, you're right," Robin agreed. "I guess I don't really feel all that bad about it. I mean, if I had to go back and do it all over again, it's not like I would have told the doctors anything different. I mean, you would have died."

Don winced at the way Robin's voice cracked on the word "died." He couldn't think of anything else to say, so he simply wrapped his arms around her and pulled her in close to him. They were both crying a little. Don fleetingly realized how pathetic a picture the two of them made.

"Hey, can I ask you something?" he eventually broke the silence. Robin pulled back, looking at him expectantly. "I mean, if I ask you something, will you tell me the honest truth?" He waited for her nod. "Charlie's—I mean, you and Dad and Amita have all done your best to sugarcoat it, but I can tell—Charlie's feeling pretty awful about this, isn't he?"

Robin sighed, as if she'd known this question was coming. "Yeah. Yeah, he does. Amita said pretty much all he does is lock himself in the solarium and work on his Cognitive Emergence theory all day."

Great. Instead of P vs. NP in a garage, it was Cognitive Emergence theory in a solarium. It was worse than Don had thought. Don had known it was bad, and thought he'd come to a realization of just had bad before, but no. Now it was really starting to sink in. He'd earlier just imagined Charlie sitting at home, maybe starting to go about his normal life now that the head injury was probably healed, and being too afraid of what Don thought of him to come visit. But, no. It sounded like Charlie was in full-blown retreat-from-reality mode—which for some reason that Don now couldn't imagine, hadn't occurred to him would be possible. And here he'd thought Charlie had come along so far in his emotional maturity in the last several years.

He realized his eyes were shut, and he was breathing slowly, at a steady rhythm. He became aware of Robin stroking his hair again, gently. When did she start doing that?

"I'm sorry, Don," she said, softly. "I don't know . . . I guess your dad and Amita have tried talking to him, but I don't really know. I guess he's just having a really hard time with everything."

"Yeah, well, I just wish I could talk to him," Don ground out in frustration. "I could knock some sense into him, so to speak."

It was like a blow to the face, knowing how badly Charlie was taking everything. It was a cherry on top that Don was trapped in a hospital, helpless to fix his own pain, much less his brother's. When did things get so messed up?

He leaned his head against Robin's, wishing that someone would hurry up and invent a time machine—it seemed to be the only way to repair all the damage that had been done to him and his family.

TBC