The Damocles Solution 25
Winston looked up at the clock on the way to Egon's hospital room. 8AM. Though he had made peace so easily with Janine in the Ecto-1 on the way here after their rescue, making peace with himself was a much more difficult task.
He sighed heavily as he walked alongside Dr. Venkman through the sterile corridors. "She was there because of me, Peter."
"I'm telling ya, Sureshot. Don't feel guilty," said Peter confidentially, now that they reached the door to Egon's room. He stopped the two of them and pointed a finger at Winston, who was still heavy with contrition even after thirty-plus hours since the rescue. "I want you to know one thing before we go in there. Janine was the best. The. Best! man on the job back there. If it—"
"-I dunno, man. It was all my fault, I keep tellin' ya. I shouldn'a pushed either one to—"
"-You're not listening to good ol' Dr. Venkman," Peter insisted. "Spit up that guilty pill some quack prescribed for ya and just listen. He was gonna go anyway, even if he knew what was gonna happen. And if that were anyone else with him, including one of those losers from 'that group that meets under the Lincoln Tunnel at the stroke of midnight and brings boatloads of Twinkies', yanno what woulda happened?" He paused, leaning in. Continuing even more intensely, he emphasized the words by giving timed pokes to one of the tall dark man's solid shoulders. "They woulda cooperated and given them anything they wanted, OR they'd probably would've ran outta there to leave the guy in this room there to get tortured and die. Got that?"
Winston shifted his weight, and pursed his lips tightly. He silently and strongly nodded, but his dark eyes obviously revealed he had a long ways toward forgiving himself for getting Janine, especially, caught in the mess they extricated her and Egon out of.
"And…do me a big favor, willya?" asked Peter, sheepishly.
"Sure. What?"
He put the back of a free hand to his mouth. "Don't tell Janine I said that about 'er. She'll just want more money and personal days out of it," he said with a wink.
Half of the dark man's mouth turned upwards, and silently, he nodded again.
"So," continued Peter, giving Winston a solid slap on the back, "let's call ourselves Gimpbusters for now, and get this guy outta here now that he's been stabilized for a whole day. I know that's what he's gonna want, and considering the looks of what he's got, this place won't be able to do much more with him but line their own pockets with our insurance money. 'Kay?"
Winston nodded again, the black device in his hands at the ready.
Peter turned, and sashayed in to Room 317 of the Crown of Mercy Medical Center. Winston closely followed behind, the electronic version of Tobin's book given to him by Ray at the ready in case Egon felt well enough to talk in depth this time, as they needed something more specific to go on than what they saw. They had a very good idea what his malady was, but wanted to confirm it with Egon.
Opening the door, there was Egon, propped up in the silence of the room, horridly pale and simultaneously deeply flushed. His left ankle was in a light brace, his right hand in an oddly-formed cast, and his blonde brows deeply furrowed over his closed eyes. In an earlier visit, Ray had specified to the doctors that due to the paranormal nature of the wounds on his wrist, he'd appreciate it if they somehow rigged it so the cast did not cover them. The doctor had heard more than enough about their work to allow for the special request.
Peter winced. At least his physical recovery wouldn't be all that unusual…it was the way everything that was delivered to him that was cruel. He walked up to the edge of the hospital bed, rested his forearms on the railings, and observed. Very closely. He squinted. Something bothered him.
Sensing someone watching him, Egon barely opened his eyes, obviously extremely uncomfortable, and also not appreciative to being watched in such a…weird…way.
"Hey," whispered Peter, taken aback at first at the odd color of his irises. "This whole Ragnarock thing…at least we know now why you're always some sorta cursed, cosmic dartboard* that attracts every owie in the universe right to ya."
The blonde snarled in intense pain and even more intense insult, and shifted. "Where…is she?" he growled, closing his eyes, and wincing. His left hand vacillated above two places, in a desire to decide whether to brace one or the other. It seemed that he didn't know which to tend to first-his right arm, which still featured the evil, blackish-green vein discoloration snaking up and inbetween the muscles on it, or his broken side, which the doctors told them earlier that quite frankly, there wasn't much they could do about either.
Winston grinned broadly. The only other time he was conscious, this was the first question he asked then, too. Egon didn't seem to remember much about the past day or so. "She's gone back with Ray to get your stuff and hers. And her car." He sighed. "She's fine."
Egon's only reaction was to take his own turn to sigh deeply, and look much, much less tense. And choose to brace his arm first, inwardly relieved beyond words no one said her name.
Peter thumbed back at Winston. "Yanno, Sureshot's pack here went 'splodey in the car on the way getting here. He barely threw it out the back door of the Ecto-1 in time before it blew a hole in the ground a city block wide. Remember that?"
Egon sat up a bit, drew his brow down even further, shocked and disappointed. He slowly shook his head no.
"That's a pretty neat idea you had there," Peter continued. "You're gonna mass produce those things in some godforsaken foreign country, for peanuts, ASAP if I have to give up takeout for ten years."
"That proves the concept is…still completely impractical for field use…when I get back, I can—"
Before Egon could say anything else, Winston slapped Peter lightly on the arm. "—Uh, Peter, let's work on gettin' him back on his feet before we worry 'bout equipment, alright?"
"Oh…yeah…that too," he said, trying to sound apologetic. "Anyway, last time we were in here, all you did was give me a laundry list of OTC stuff to bring ya so you can get out. Care to share what's making you look like you only have half your marbles in there now?"
"After…I receive a hydrodocone," grunted Egon in offense again, but not having the energy to counter Peter's asinine comment about his supposed loss of marbles. A nurse was called, and a cute one at that. Soon enough, the small pill was given and taken.
"She called it…'Jormunger's Bite'," said Egon after washing down the opioid with water.
Winston flipped out the Guide, and scanned the electronic pages. "Yeah, that's what Ray figured it was. Here's what we've got-'Jormungandr—a huge water-based serpent. An ancient Norse leviathan, offspring of the fire god and frost goddess.' And it sez: 'The origin of a debilitating, excruciating ritual poison, known by worshippers as Jormunger's Bite. Worshippers have on very, very rare occasion, approximately once every one hundred-fifty years, extracted venom from Jormungandr's own essence by an unknown method. It is diluted close to a hundred times over so it may be handled by humans. Used rarely to kill, and more for ritualistic ceremonies.'"
Peer shuddered. "A backup for bad weddings?"
Winston rolled his eyes, then continued. "When injected, the venom has proven to be largely incurable, with unknown alternatives for antivenom. However, its effects are lessened with time. Because it presents a long halflife, receipients have been disabled by its use up to and over two months." He closed the ebook shut with a soft click.
Egon sighed exasperatedly, closing his eyes and sinking back into the bed. "Two months."
Peter pointed his finger at Egon. "Hey. I know that meant 'oh, no, I can't go 'busting for two months.' And I don't wanna hear it." When he saw Egon's increasingly bristled look, he knew he hit the nail on the head. "Yeah, we're gettin' you out today," and he opened his briefcase to present everything from fever reducers to anti-nausea remedies, including a change of clothes consisting of spare eyeglasses, shoes, a black tee and khakis, "but I'm tellin' ya. You look like you had a bad day with a whole gang of haunted nail bats, even without this goofy Norse thing, so relax and eat some Twinkies for us when we're out, 'kay?"
"Well, that's a much nicer thing to say to 'im, Peter," said Winston sarcastically, to Peter's miffed chagrin.
Egon nodded, and leaned back agianst the bed, massaging his temples while he waited stoically for the pill to work. "However, the nanosecond I am dischargeable, I am doing exactly that—discharging."
Winston smiled, as difficult as it was for him to do. "Don't worry, man. We'll get ya out."
The tall blonde sunk far down into the back seat of Ecto-1 as room for his long legs would allow, groaning deeply and often, and massaging his whitish temples.
"Man, I can't believe all that wore off already! Must be potent stuff," said Winston, rounding a turn.
"What mattered was…the hour from last examination…to discharge," Egon managed to squeeze out before going back to grinding his teeth.
Peter, sitting aside Egon, spread his hands toward Winston. "Give 'im a break, he's got the venom of a god runnin' through his veins. Just goes to show ya how tough we are," he said, grinning stupidly. He turned briefly toward Egon aside of him, and shook his finger. "You know, Spengs, all you're doin' is feeding my 'god'-complex."
Egon's breath caught a few times, and reached under his glasses to rub his eyes. "I am sure seeing…the patient looking forward to the next hydrocodone, even though…they have taken one only two-and-a-half hours ago…would easily remedy any sort of 'god'-complex."
Peter was starting to look concerned; the hand Egon was using to rub eyes was literally shaking now. He squinted again. There was still something very wrong with the physicist, in spite of his desire to get back to 'busting. He couldn't put his finger on it, though, and decided it was better to just observe, and let Egon alone for now—he knew he'd only be annoying him further. Or rather, he thought with a devilish smirk, more than necessary.
However, he was still determined to keep the mood light. They'd be rounding the last turn in just a few seconds, and Egon would be much better once he stayed put rather than traveling. Janine's inevitable coddling would also help 'im, no doubt, he thought, rolling his eyes. "I got an idea," he thought out loud. "They should make a TV show about a miserable genius who sucks down pain pills, makes witty, sarcastic comments to all the wonderful people around him, and never quite has to account for it."
Egon frowned ever so slightly, and sighed.
Winston waved the comment off, and he pulled into the doors of the firehouse. "Naaaaaah. Somethin' like that'd never get off the ground."
The car came to a halt, and Winston got out first, Peter a close second due to his picking up Egon's crutch, and both of them made their way around to his door. They glanced at each other when they got there, with the silent understanding that they were there to catch him if he couldn't stay up on his own power.
Ray had already been back for a while, and walked quickly up to them with a cloudy expression. "Hey guys. Get 'im out without too much drama?"
Peter thumbed-up as he opened the car door. "No drama." Helping Egon out, he watched the furthest corners of the firehouse, keeping a wary eye out for Slimer…who never showed up to splat him at the front door! AGAIN! He ground his teeth as he shut the door. The nerve of that stupid little green ghost!
Winston half-grinned sarcastically. "If there was one sole reason why the Good Lord made OTC meds, today woulda been it."
Ray then looked up at Egon, now standing , and being passed the crutch from Peter. "Egon," he whispered, taking his hands out of his pockets. "How ya feelin'?"
He gazed vapidly at Ray for a moment, precariously balancing himself with the long crutch under his arm. His answer was to close his eyes, and then silently sink so far down, Winston and Peter did in fact have to support him. Peter made an irritated comment about how useless the stupid crutch was, and leaned it for now against the door of the Ecto-1.
Ray persisted as Winston and Peter brought him around and started their way up the stairs with him. "Um, I dropped off Janine at her apartment," he said, walking up the stairs behind the three men.
Though he didn't make a single sound, Peter and Winston both could feel Egon's body stiffen for just a moment, as if he had suddenly been shot. Each assumed that the other did something stupid, carrying him too roughly or the wrong way.
"She said she's gonna take a bit of time off. She didn't say why," continued Ray, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his khakis.
The incapacitated physicist gave him an unexpected, scalding side-glare over his shoulder as he was being carried, and Ray's eyes widened in intimidation for a moment.
They made it to the landing, and Ray's brow furrowed. He also felt rather brushed off due to Egon's stubborn, stony silence at his information, which Ray kindly thought would be a top priority due to Egon and Janine having their continued heavily-flirting-but-somewhat-dating relationship up until now.
Arching an eyebrow high, the occultist continued, figuring the poison was causing Egon's filthy look. "I asked her if they did anything to her, and she said no, not beyond what you guys saw. I don't understand it. Egon? Did you see anything we all didn't that we should know about?"
Egon, now released by Winston as he was ready to step into the bunkroom, stopped for a moment. He turned, finally managing to fully acknowledge Ray, riveting him with that same horridly pale but still piercingly tempestuous glare. "No. I did not."
Ray started, wide-eyed at the—fury?-in his few words.
Peter whistled. "Gee, what's got you sounding like a caged tiger, Spengs?" To him, Egon sounded not in pain, but angry-almost offended. He looked over to Winston with a raised eyebrow, and the large dark man just shrugged.
The comment perturbed Egon enough to glare down at Peter for a split second, and back at Ray with a half-hearted, exhausted apology. He continued addressing them all as he began to turn away, urging Peter to help him in the bunkroom. "She has just been through a life-threatening, trying experience," he said, and it sounded like Peter's criticism was forcing him to control himself more than anything else. "It makes sense that she would want to avoid the firehouse and gather her thoughts before moving on to any other endeavors." Peter half-dragged him in, Winston joining Peter in carrying him once the doorway was passed.
On reaching the bunk, and subsequently his bed, they helped him down, and he removed his eyeglasses. Immediately he got as comfortable as he could. He covered his deeply furrowed brows with an arm, and seemed to almost disappear, except for the grated breaths.
Peter's brow was also knitted in thought, as he looked down on him for a long moment before he and Winston left the bunkroom. There was that thing that wasn't right again.
Ray, unsettled by Egon's sudden and inexplicably malignant tone, was silent as they made their way toward the couch.
"Don't worry Ray, he was like that the whole way back in the car," said Peter. He turned up his mouth. "Sometimes I think we shoulda left 'im there."
"They can't help him much there, now Peter," Winston admonished him. "Ya said so yourself." He turned to the occultist, and promptly ignored Peter, who was childishly sticking out his tongue. "So, Ray, ya gonna get some readings on 'im?" he said, plopping himself down on a comfy, worn cushion. "I can do it, yanno, if you don't wanna—"
Ray sighed, distracted and upset by strange behavior on not just one, but two counts now. "Um…ah…yeah. That's OK. I'll do it. That way we can filter the residuals from the Jormungar poison in case anything new develops." He looked to Winston with determined, but saddened eyes. "I'm also gonna keep trying to call Janine and see if there's anything she wants to talk about. I'll try again right now."
Winston nodded silently.
Peter had long since disappeared into his office, and propped his feet up on his desk. He latched his fingers behind his head, and glared up at the light on the ceiling.
Something familiar about the mood in this place. Something veeeeeery familiar…
Peter looked in from the doorway, a puffed, annoyed breath escaping. He made his way over to Egon, who had been lying there unmoving for practically the whole day.
He noticed something was missing, and, leaning over him, stopped for a moment and listened.
Egon's breathing was deafeningly silent, as opposed to the grating struggle it had been since he was placed in his bed.
Peter carefully lowered the arm covering his friend's eyes, and turned his head gently toward him. The look on Egon's face, like he just so happened to be catnapping, or how it looked when he happened to fall asleep in the middle of something when completely comfortable, was just too placid not to be terribly disturbing. Peter placed a hand on Egon's chest-and a chill ran through him. He wasn't feeling it rise and fall. He ground his teeth.
There were so many things wrong with this picture, he couldn't stand it. "Spengs…hey. Hey, Spengs," he said, shaking Egon's shoulder and lightly tapping him on the face.
Egon inhaled deeply, and after throwing his head back, and emitting a deep, long groan, continued to grate away, a wash of pain shadowing his face again.
When Egon managed to crack open his eyes, Peter noticed with dismay, and even fright, that they closely matched his own eye color…though they were missing a certain brightness and spark. They were not a shade of "emerald" or "forest". They were the color of green glass that had been scratched, or ground, or sandpapered.
A hushed, deep, irritated "what?" was all Egon finally managed to say.
"You better get back in the saddle, bucko, you're slipping fast," whispered the furious psychologist. "I suggest you make an effort at not permanently taking a hike to the Netherworld or whereverthehell you'll end up if you don't buckle down."
Egon snarled, and shifted uncomfortably. "I'd be grateful if…you'd leave…me alone," he breathed in a tone that sounded like he would shout it if he had the strength.
"Don't you count on it," growled Peter.
That's it, he thought, the dark realization creeping on him as he watched his friend close his eyes, and slip back into grating, open-mouthed half-sleep. He walked out of the bunkroom, and made his way back to the couch where Ray already sat.
That's the answer.
The answer is…that he's not fighting it.
Winston flipped through a book catalog, making a few selections, and watching the time to make sure he didn't miss his turn to check on Egon. Slimer rested himself in the seat aside him, his eyebrows raised, quietly pretending to flip through an upside-down book in his hands.
Peter and Ray sat in silent cogitation on the couch, when they simultaneously turned to one another.
They both managed to speak, one saying "Thre's something wrong with Janine", the other, "There's something wrong with Spengs."
Peter frowned, and ran a hand through his hair, sighing heavily. "What's your 'something wrong?' You go first, Tex."
Ray turned his mouth down. "It's Janine. She's blowing off my calls. And on top of that, she's just…not here. That's not right. Doesn't make sense for her to say she's taking time off now while Egon's in such bad shape. It's like she's avoiding us!" he bowed his head sadly. "It's—it's like she hates us."
Peter nodded, then tossed his head toward the bunkroom. "Yeah. She never even stopped in the hospital when he was in there. And it's no small wonder why she's not practically sleeping in there aside of Spengs right now."
Shifting, and looking bit relieved, Ray cocked an eyebrow. "And you?"
Peter rubbed his face from hairline to chin, then rested his face in his hands. "He's not fighting it, Tex. He's too quiet, even for Egon. He's pretty much lettin' himself slip into it whenever it wants him to." He turned away, terribly disturbed. "He's not fighting it," he whispered. "He's terrified, Tex. Terrified of something." He puffed out his cheeks, exhaling in frustration.
"Well, I can't blame 'im," said Winston, flipping another glossy page. "He is the only one that can translate the Ragnarock glyphs after all that happened. Man's got a huuuuuuge bullseye right between the eyes now on'im. Maybe we can paint a couple on those red glasses he wears."
Ray bit his lip, furious. "Yeah. That's gotta have something to do with this."
After a pause, Winston's eyes flashed, and he dropped the catalog a bit. "Yanno what?" he cautioned, staring out to an unknown point in front of him, his mind obviously occupied with some sort of epiphany.
"Yeah?" asked Peter.
Winston turned toward him, his eyes narrowing. "He said, 'move on to other endeavors…'"
They all exchanged glances at each other, with that knowing, are-you-thinking-what-I'm-thinking look.
Peter threw himself back into the back of the couch, rubbing his face, and Ray ground his teeth, making a fist with each hand that previously rested on his legs.
Pointing his finger at Winston, Peter mused. "God, he has nerve. That boy is so damn lucky he lives with a psychologist and knows at least four other people who have their emotional wiring screwed in halfway right, he doesn't even know."
"So there is some kind of problem between the two of them! I'm calling Janine again," said Ray determinately, bolting upright. "I'm gettin' to the bottom of this, too."
Ray headed over to her desk, the other two men in rapt attention. He dialed her number, and when she answered, lowered his head, and sat in her chair. "Janine? Are you OK?" He fiddled with a pen on her desk. "We—we miss you already."
Paused a moment to listen, the other men could see his face growing in frustration, and he put down the pen. "Janine, please, please talk to me. We know something's wrong. Egon's acting weird, and so are you. What's wrong? You ca—"
He paused again, this time, his face growing in horrified shock. He lunged forward in the chair, looking ready to break down in tears. "Janine! No…no! You can't! Please don't! You—"
Slowly, he removed the receiver from his ear and, after staring it it for a long moment, placed it back in the cradle. He looked up helplessly at Peter and Winston. "She says that she resigned!" He sat back, sniffed, and ran a hand through his hair. "She—she said she's not coming back!"
Peter leaped up from the couch, and started pacing in heated concentration. Winston leaned forward, rubbing his hands together in agitation.
Ray ground his teeth, his eyes streaming out tears. He made fists of his hands, and brought them down hard on the desk. "This isn't gonna happen! It's NOT! I'm going over there, getting the whole story, and getting her back! She's one of us. She's not leaving us!"
Peter turned around in mid-pace, then threw Ray a communicator. "Here. Take this. Keep us informed. I have an idea when she decides she's not gonna answer the door 'cuz she sees it's you there."
The redhead nodded in understanding. The psychologist didn't say "if she decides", he said "when".
Ray grabbed his coat and hat, and ran toward Ecto-1.
"Godspeed, man," said Winston, and Ray nodded again, appreciating the encouragement before opening the door to the car.
*-If you haven't read it, go check out Princess Artemis' hilariously sad (because I don't know how else to describe it) story titled "Egon Spengler and the Dartboard of Doom." Go, shoo now, it's an awesome story, and it pokes fun of stories just like this one. I'm just following the herd writing a story like this, and I won't be offended if you go read hers right now. I'll wait.