Chapter 21

It was after 9:00 before the doctor made his appearance. When Megan and Alan had come back up with sandwiches, Colby and David followed them from the waiting area into Don's room. Their boss was uncharacteristically silent and subdued; he refused his food, which had been delivered on a tray, and the silence was awkward. After a half-hearted attempt to eat, the three agents beat a hasty retreat to the waiting area on the floor, leaving the Eppes men to themselves. Part of the hallway ran past the waiting area, and they could see the door to the room, and when they saw the doctor, they rose as a group to their feet and headed to the door.

The doctor gave them a glance as they crowded into the doorway, but Alan told him, "It's okay, they can hear this."

He was pale, and his voice shook a little as he spoke, and Megan wondered if Don had told him what happened, and how much. She looked at Don, and was taken aback. His face was drawn and tense, with dark circles under his eyes from fatigue, and he was gripping the side of his mattress unconsciously.

The doctor looked exhausted himself, and he spoke wearily and a bit pompously. "Dr. Eppes is a very lucky man."

Colby almost snorted at this, but he caught himself with an effort.

The doctor continued. "He sustained multiple contusions and lacerations. He has a broken rib and a bruised kidney. He has a mild concussion. His toe was nearly completely severed; we managed to re-attach it, but we will need to monitor it for blood flow and infection. There are also the slash marks on his chest, but the stab wounds to the leg and his lower abdomen were the most serious."

"Two of the wounds to his leg came within an inch of the femoral artery, and the wound in his abdomen came within a centimeter of the iliac artery. Had either of those been severed, knowing that he was over an hour away when it happened, we would not be standing here having this conversation." Megan wouldn't have thought it possible, but both Don and Alan turned even paler at that comment, and Alan rubbed his face with a shaking hand.

"In spite of his good fortune, he still lost a good deal of blood." Colby almost sneered at the man. 'Good fortune? Quit saying that, you asshole.'

"The wound to his abdomen perforated his intestine. We have repaired that, but you should know that infection is a danger whenever there is a perforation of the bowel; we will be monitoring him for that. Because of the blood loss, he is receiving a transfusion, and we have also put him on broad spectrum antibiotics to head off any possible infection. He is stable, but we will put him in ICU for monitoring. His prognosis is good."

He paused and looked at Alan. "He's in recovery now, but they'll be bringing him out soon. You're welcome to go see him." He turned a sweeping glance on the rest of them, which ended on Don. "Family members only in ICU, and only those members that do not need to be in a hospital bed themselves. It's after visiting hours. I suggest you all go and get some rest."

Alan nodded and rose, clasping the doctor's hand to thank him. He was shell-shocked with concern, grief and fatigue, but the news that Charlie was stable had flooded him with relief. The release of the tension somehow made him even more tired, and he turned weary eyes on his son. The agents murmured good nights as they filed from the room, Megan stopping to give Alan a hug. "We'll see you in the morning," she said with a glance at Don.

Don nodded, silently. He looked at his father. "Better get over there."

Alan sighed. "Yeah. I may camp out in ICU tonight if that's okay with you. Anything you want me to tell Charlie?"

Don swallowed. 'What do you say?' he wondered. 'Glad you didn't bleed to death? Sorry you were attacked by a madman, get well soon.' He looked at his father. "Just tell him I can't wait to see him."

Alan nodded, and placed his hand on Don's shoulder for a moment. They exchanged a look, wordless, a silent communication between father and son; then Alan turned and went out the door, flicking out the room light as he went. Don sat in the darkness, motionless and staring, his mind whirling with fatigue and emotion, trying to comprehend the unthinkable that had happened to his brother, and struggling to come to grips with the fact that he had not been there for him, when Charlie needed him most.

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ICU was on the same floor as Don's room, but in a different wing, and by the time Alan got there, Charlie was in the room. Visiting was allowed for 10 minutes every hour, on the hour, and even though that was thirty-five minutes away, they let Alan in the room. He was surprised and worried to see that his son was still unconscious, and on a respirator.

The nurse explained gently to him. "His oxygen levels are still a little low and he is having a stronger reaction to the general anesthesia than usual. We will want to see him fully awake and able to maintain good oxygen flow on his own before the tube comes out. When he wakes up, we will switch to vent assist only – the machine will kick in only if his oxygen levels get too low. If he does well on his own, we'll take it out."

Alan nodded. He felt a slight sensation of disappointment; he had had an overwhelming need to look into his son's eyes, to know he was all right. 'One step at a time,' he told himself. He moved closer to Charlie's side, and his breath left him as he got a closer look. The left side of his son's face was swollen and bruised, especially around the cheekbone and jaw area. The front of his gown drooped a bit, and Alan could see fresh bandages on Charlie's chest. They had applied clean dressings to his left shoulder and wrist, and his right foot protruded from the blanket below, wrapped in an impossibly large mass of bandages, and propped up on several pillows. IV tubes snaked around a pole and into his arm, one clear, one red.

Alan surveyed the damage in agony, and thought back over what Don had told him had happened. He knew that his son had not given him the details of the story, trying to shield him, but even with what he knew, the thought of what Charlie must have gone through shocked and horrified him. Looking at his son, he could almost feel for himself the pain and the fear that Charlie must have felt, and moisture sprang to his eyes, and spilled over as grief overtook him. He touched his son's curls ever so softly, and murmured to him, as tears coursed down his cheeks, unchecked.

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Don woke with a start. Early morning grayness peeked in through the window. In spite of himself, he must have fallen asleep. He saw an orderly pull cords off of the other bed in the room, and Don frowned in confusion as the man began to wheel it out. He pulled himself up in his bed ad he heard his father's voice out in the hall. The orderly and the bed disappeared, and another bed was eased into the room, and Don's heart pounded as he saw his brother's unmistakable dark curls. He let out the pent-up breath that he didn't realize he was holding, as another orderly pushed the bed in, followed by his father.

Alan's eyes caught his, and he smiled. His father looked exhausted, thought Don, but the smile was a good sign. "Morning, Donnie."

"Morning." Don looked over at his brother anxiously. Charlie's face was turned slightly away, and his eyes were closed. From that angle, Don couldn't see the bruises that he knew were there. "How's he doing?"

Alan took a breath. "Good, I think. He's sleeping. The pain medication knocks him out." He rubbed his face and frowned, as he sat, wearily.

"What?" asked Don, anxiously.

Alan glanced at him, grimacing. "Oh, it's just that pompous ass of a doctor. I think Charlie should have stayed in ICU, but there was a big accident, and they got overrun. The doctor told them to put Charlie in a regular room, said he wasn't sick enough."

Don's face went cold. "Let me talk to him, he'll know what sick is."

Alan sighed. "No, don't bother, it won't do any good; anyway they said they would monitor him from here."

The buxom nurse bustled in. "Good morning," she chirped. She moved swiftly around Charlie's bed, adjusting the bed itself, IV's, and the pillows under Charlie's foot. "Need to keep that elevated," she told them briskly. She crossed over to Don, checking his water pitcher. "I'm going to bring your breakfast. If you want to get released today, I'd advise you eat some of it. You need to show you can keep solid food down before the doctor will let you go." She glanced at Alan, then at Charlie. "He's due for another dose of pain medicine. As soon as he wakes up, call the nurses station. I'll be right down." She tossed Alan a dazzling smile and a wink, and sashayed out of the room.

Alan scratched the back of his head and looked at his feet, avoiding Don's grin. "I'm tellin' you, Dad, she wants you."

Alan shook his head ruefully and started to reply, when a low moan from Charlie made him whip his head in that direction. He was up like a shot, and over to the bedside. Charlie turned his face toward them, his eyes opened slightly, and Don could see that the entire left side of his face was purple.

Charlie made a strangled noise in the back of his throat that made Don's heart catch, and he convulsed, gagging. "Ahh," he moaned, twisting in pain, and gagged again. Alan hovered, frantic. It couldn't be good for him to be retching with that incision, he thought, panicked. He reached for the call button, hitting it at the same time as Don hit his. Charlie was weakly trying to turn his head and his upper body, and he gagged again, more violently, gasping in pain, clutching at his stomach, his face twisted in agony.

The nurse hurried in, took one look, and hurried back out, returning a few seconds later with an intern. Don's eyes were riveted on Charlie, and he slid out of bed without even realizing he was doing it. "What's going on?" demanded Alan, fearfully.

Charlie was still retching, and the intern grabbed a pillow, and pushed it into his hands. "Push this against your incision," he told Charlie, whose hands crept around the pillow, shaking. His eyes were closed and he was still gasping in pain. He heaved again, and uttered a cry that tore Don's heart.

The doctor had appeared, and Don's anxiety was increasing. This could not be good. He and the intern checked the chart, looking at the temperature readings, and then the doctor gently turned Charlie on his back. "Tell me if this hurts," he said, probing Charlie's abdomen with his fingers. Charlie's eyes were closed in pain, but he alternately shook his head or nodded, his breath catching, as the doctor moved his hands over his torso. He convulsed once more, retching, and the doctor helped turn him sideways again, and spoke to the intern quietly.

He stepped aside toward Don, and Alan realized suddenly that his older son was out of bed, balancing primarily on one leg without his crutches, but he was too worried about Charlie to call him on it. Alan moved in toward them as the doctor looked at him. "Sometimes after intestinal surgery, the patient has a hard time processing anything through his system."

"But he hasn't had anything," Alan protested. "They wouldn't even give him ice chips."

"Your system produces gastric juices constantly," the doctor continued, looking a little annoyed at the interruption. "In bowel surgery cases, they can irritate the intestine and cause nausea. Sometimes the patient can tolerate them, and sometimes they can't. We're going to pump his stomach to suction out the fluids. The other alternative is that this is the beginnings of peritonitis, but I don't think so."

He pursed his lips, frowning at Charlie, and looked back at Alan. "This is a relatively minor setback, but it does indicate that he may need a longer healing period than most."

"He doesn't have the strongest stomach in the world," Alan admitted.

The doctor nodded. "Every patient is different. What I am concerned about is that he is already underweight, and a longer healing period means that much longer before we can get him eating again. He won't like the stomach pump, but it is necessary. We can't have him stressing the surgery site."

The intern returned with another nurse, and the pump was brought into the room. The space in the room was decreasing, and Alan backed into a corner, his anxious eyes on Charlie.

The pump was followed by yet another person with a portable X-ray machine, and the doctor stepped into the bathroom. Don backed up against his bed. He could hear water running, and he stared at Charlie helplessly. His brother was collapsed on his side with his eyes closed, panting, his injured leg twisted slightly on the pillows. The doctor came back in the room, snapping on gloves, and stepped over to Charlie's bed, picking up a clear tube. Charlie heaved again, and the doctor spoke loudly over the noise. "Dr. Eppes, I need you to lay back and tilt your head back."

Charlie, gasping, made a weak attempt to lie back, and the intern helped position him. Don saw his brother's eyes flicker open as the doctor leaned over him with the tube, and he pressed back against the pillow involuntarily. "Head up," admonished the doctor, and he began to insert the tube into Charlie's throat. Charlie coughed and gagged, writhing, and the doctor spoke sharply as he continued to feed in the tube. "Hold still and swallow. Swallow…," The tube in place, the doctor stepped back. Using the portable X-ray machine, they checked the position of the tube, and then turned Charlie on his left side.

The procedure took only a few minutes, but the look of complete misery on Charlie's face made it seem an eternity. Alan was aghast when he saw the contents of Charlie's stomach empty into the bucket. "Why is it black?"

"We give them charcoal to help soak up the acid. Then we flush with water." Finally the process was over, and the doctor removed the tube. They helped reposition Charlie on his back, and he coughed weakly and gasped, his eyes clenched shut in pain.

The doctor left the room, and the equipment was wheeled out. The nurse entered and made her way to Charlie's IV. "Pain medication," she said, "and compazine, which will help with the nausea." Charlie lay on his back, trembling with pain and exhaustion, trying to stifle a weak gag. Don limped forward gingerly to his bedside, trying to keep the weight off of his cast, as Alan moved from his corner. Don could see Charlie start to relax as the medication hit his system, and he leaned forward, trying to catch his brother's eyes. "Hey bro," he said softly, and laid his hand on Charlie's. He was completely unprepared for his brother's reaction.

Charlie jerked his head toward him, and as his eyes focused, they filled with accusation and distress. He turned his head away, pulling his hand from under Don's at the same time, and closed his eyes. Don stood staring, hurt and mystified by his brother's actions, and glanced sideways at his father, but he realized that Alan hadn't seen it; Don was blocking his view. He swallowed. 'He's in pain; and out of it from the meds,' he told himself. 'He just had someone stick a tube down his throat. It's a normal reaction when you think about it."

He backed up slowly to his bed, and eased back into it, staring, disquieted, at the back of his brother's head.

--------------------------End Chapter 21-------------------------------------------------------