He just sat there for a while. Someone had given him a stool to sit next to Martin's head, which was kind of them. He just clutched Martin's hand, as if that could fix him. They made him leave the room briefly while they took chest x-rays, and he resumed his position right after. Martin didn't seem to be improving despite the oxygen and fluids, and if anything, seemed to be doing worse.

They'd placed a cooling blanket on him for the fever, but still Martin was sweating from the physical effort it was taking him to breathe. He was using muscles that he wasn't supposed to use to breathe, and Douglas knew that was a sign of impending respiratory arrest. He didn't want to know what that would mean.

Martin's eyes opened, looking terrified.

"It's okay Martin," Douglas reassured him. "You're at the hospital now."

Martin didn't believe him, or maybe he couldn't. Who was Douglas to say that everything was going to be alright? Just because he had a knack for fixing things didn't mean he could promise Martin would recover.

Martin licked his lips before trying to speak.

"Douglas," he said, in barely a whisper.

Douglas leaned in closer and nodded.

"I can't... breathe..." he gasped.

"I know," Douglas said reassuringly. Martin didn't seem reassured. His eyes darted around the room, taking in all the movement. That probably didn't help, not being able to understand anything that was going on. Perhaps he thought he was brain damaged and no longer able to understand language.

"They're speaking Norwegian, Martin. We're in Norway, remember? Bodo?"

Martin's eyes darted around again before landing on Douglas as he nodded slightly.

"Sd'I'ws'late," he slurred, and Douglas had to think about that for a moment before it dawned on him.

"Said I was late?" he repeated, and Martin nodded. "Oh no, don't worry about that. I was just trying to wake you up. You're not late. Not late for anything," he added, looking up at the monitor keeping track of his vital signs. They still weren't good, and would probably still be causing alarms to go off, except Douglas had already seen a nurse turn them off.

Martin's eyes were drifting shut, so exhausted he was with the effort of breathing.

"'M drowning Dougl's," Martin wheezed, and his heart couldn't help but sink at that description.

"It's alright. You can go to sleep if you want, and I'll make sure they take care of you."

Martin's hand tightened ever so slightly around Douglas', and he was startled, having forgotten it was there. Then Martin's eyes slid shut and stayed that way, and whether it was sleep or merely falling into unconsciousness, Douglas could never be sure.

Another doctor joined the mix, a technician bringing in a machine behind him.

Douglas looked to Ben for information.

"He's a respiratory therapist. They're going to try something else to help Martin to breathe."

Douglas watched critically as they attached a different mask to Martin's face and strapped it down. It didn't look very comfortable or reassuring.

"This mask will provide pressure so Martin will not have to do as much work," Ben explained.

Douglas nodded, watching them adjust dials. The man, the one who Ben called the respiratory therapist, looked happier than he had when he arrived. Douglas hoped that was good news, since Martin's vital signs didn't seem overly improved.

"He's pleased with your friend's response," Ben explained when Douglas glanced at him for an explanation.

Douglas frowned as he examined the fingernails of the hand he was holding. "I'm not," he muttered.

"Sorry?" Ben said.

"I'm not very pleased with his response," Douglas said to Ben. "His nails and lips are still blue."

Ben nodded at him. "It may take a while."

Douglas gave him a suspicious glance before turning back to examine Martin. Despite the mask that was supposed to be helping him, Martin was still working too hard to breathe, practically his whole body involved in the strenuous effort, to no avail. It hurt Douglas to watch, knowing that Martin had whispered he felt like he was drowning only moments before.

An alarm went off and the respiratory therapist looked up angrily. He said something to one of the nurses and motioned to the other doctor.

Douglas looked at Ben with what might have been panic, except Douglas Richardson did not get panicked.

Ben watched for another second before turning his attention to Douglas.

"They are going to put a tube in Martin's throat to help him breathe, and put him on a breathing machine so he doesn't have to work as hard."

Douglas was angry. "You said that about the mask!"

"Yes," Ben said kindly. Douglas got the feeling he was used to dealing with upset family members. (Which he was not, he reminded himself.) "But his heart rate is dropping and he is headed towards respiratory arrest. He's getting too tired to breathe, and soon he will just stop. We're going to help him before that happens." Ben took Douglas' arm and tried to lead him from the room.

"Why am I leaving?" he demanded.

"What they are going to do next is very unpleasant to watch. It can also be very frightening. You can come back when it is finished, but for now, you should go update your friends in the waiting room."

Douglas nodded numbly, and Ben pointed out the way he should go before heading back in the room.

When Douglas looked back at Martin, the respiratory therapist was tipping his head back and attempting to insert a long metal scoop.

Douglas swallowed against the nausea and hurried to the waiting room. He wasn't sure what he was going to tell Carolyn, but he sure as hell wasn't going to tell Arthur any of what was going on. The poor boy would be beside himself.