Midnight – Children's Hospital of Pittsburgh

"Justin! What are you doing here? I thought your shift was over at eleven."

Justin glanced up from the bed sheets he was changing and smiled at the young resident who had noticed him as she walked by the now-unoccupied room. "Hi, Dr. Chan….uh, Daphne," he corrected himself, remembering that the young woman had told him to call her by her first name, at least when they were alone. Daphne was a first-year resident at the hospital and was only a few years older than Justin. They had met a couple of weeks ago when Justin had started working at the hospital as an orderly and had struck up a friendship with her when she had caught him sketching a picture of her on the back of a patient registration form and asked him about it. She had been struck by his artistic talent and had found out that he was working at the hospital as a way to help fund his college tuition at PIFA.

Since then, they had run into each other numerous times in the course of their jobs and found that they shared a great deal of interests – the same taste in music, the same love for children, and the same fondness for pizza – the loaded and the greasier, the better. Normally, Justin worked the second shift from 3 – 11 so he would have enough time to grab some sleep and head off to art school, but with it being a Friday he had agreed to work a few extra hours as a favor to a fellow co-worker who needed some time off.

"Yeah, it was," he answered her congenially as she walked into the room to stand by the bed. "I offered to work a couple extra hours for one of the other orderlies. I'm getting off at two tonight."

"Well, I definitely know what it's like to work extra hours," she said with a yawn. She placed her hands at the small of her back and leaned backward in an attempt to loosen some of the stiff muscles there.

"You do look pretty beat," Justin observed sympathetically, noticing the drawn lines on her light-skinned face. "What time did you come in today?" He knew from what his new friend had told him earlier that as a resident she had to work ridiculously-long hours; it made him exhausted just thinking about it.

She scrunched up her face in thought. "Let me think – all the days tend to run together lately," she said wryly. "But I think I came in at 6."

Justin looked at her aghast. "Six a.m.? Shit, Daphne, no wonder you look dead on your feet – no offense," he hastened to add teasingly.

She nodded. "One of the joys of being in medicine," she told him facetiously. "And speaking of which, I'd better get going – I've still got to do rounds on the sixth floor." She turned to go before adding, "How about pizza for lunch later? I think they're giving me parole for a couple hours in the middle of the day; it helps to prevent mutinies among the medical students."

Justin laughed. "Anything to contribute to your delinquency," he told her. "You want to meet at Roberto's?" The iconic Italian restaurant a couple of blocks away had quickly become their main gathering spot around the hospital – their deep pan, handmade-crust pepperoni pizzas had quickly become their all-time favorite, high-carb food.

"Sounds great," she said, nodding. "One o'clock?" As Justin nodded in acceptance, she quickly bid him a brief goodbye and rushed out with a wave as she disappeared out of sight.

Finished with replacing the sheets, Justin sat down for just a moment and sighed; changing bedding and restocking the janitorial supplies and towels wasn't the most fascinating or exciting job, but he did find certain parts of it very rewarding, such as talking to the young patients as he wheeled them downstairs for tests, or bringing their lunches to them so he had a chance to cheer them up. Sometimes it was extremely hard to keep a smile on his face when he knew some of them were seriously ill – some even terminal – but the light that would come into their eyes when he entered their room or the hugs and/or kisses he would receive after he had drawn a picture for them made it all worthwhile, and he liked to think that it also helped to lighten their load just a bit. The truth was, he thought he was the one who got the most out of his encounters with them. He felt terrible on the rare occasions when he was unable to work due to illness; fortunately he did not get sick too often, but when he did and was unable to come to work, he actually felt guilty about it; that was how seriously he took his responsibility to them.

Rolling the soiled bedding into a tight ball, he dropped it into the nearby hamper and turned to walk out of the room and into the next one to repeat the same procedure; the hospital was fairly quiet and empty tonight. Some nights it was boisterous and hectic, other times, like tonight, it was pretty uneventful. He actually preferred these types of nights because it gave him a chance to check up on some of his favorite patients and spend more time with them. Of course, most of them would be in bed asleep by now, but he always found a few that were struggling to drift off. He's not sure how he had thought of it initially, but normally he could soothe any troubles they were having with either a custom-drawn caricature of them or by simply holding their hand and singing softly to them until their eyelids fluttered closed and they fell into slumber. He liked the fact that he could provide some additional comfort to the children whose parents couldn't be with them all the time.

He smiled, for instance, at the thought of the little, blond-haired girl named Ashley in Room 507. A regular tomboy according to her parents, the little five-year-old child had sustained a broken leg after falling out of a sprawling maple tree in the front yard of her home. She had been admitted yesterday and was due to go home tomorrow after having a bright pink cast applied to her leg earlier today. When Justin had first brought her lunch yesterday, she had been sullen and withdrawn. Ten minutes and a quick sketch of her later, however, and the little girl was all smiles, along with her grateful parents, who had slipped out just long enough to grab a bite themselves and had returned while Justin was still there. Yes, it was times like those that made his sometimes tedious job worthwhile.

He was about to enter the next room when he heard one of the nurses calling him, requesting that he go down to the first-floor commissary for some extra blankets. He glanced up at the clock – one more hour to go. Nodding at the dark-haired, bespectacled nurse, he turned toward the freight elevator and waited for the car to arrive.

Same Time – Brian's Loft

"Daddy?" The voice was soft and plaintive from the other side of Brian's massive bed, but Brian nonetheless heard it immediately and awakened quickly. "What is it, Buddy?" he asked tenderly as he turned on his side to face his son. He was surprised after the big day Gus had had that he was awake; earlier he had gone to sleep practically as soon as he had laid his head down on the pillow.

"I don't feel so good," his son responded, his voice sounding hesitant and almost faraway. "My tummy and my head hurt."

Brian smiled; after everything the little boy had eaten earlier that evening, it was no wonder he was feeling ill, especially with a tummy ache. He reached over with the intention of reassuring his son that everything would be all right when his hand made contact with Gus' forehead and he shrank back as if he had been scorched. The little boy's head was burning up with fever.

He immediately twisted around to switch on the side lamp and turned to get a better look at his little boy. Gus's dark hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat, his face was pale and he was holding his stomach with his hands.

"Daddy, I think I'm going to be sick," he announced suddenly. Not taking any chances, Brian quickly threw the covers aside and scooped the feather-light body into his arms to rush toward the bathroom. He just managed to gently place his son down in front of the toilet before Gus promptly threw up – twice.

Now Brian was really concerned as he reached for a nearby towel and tenderly wiped his son's face and pulled him into his lap to hold him as the little body trembled with the aftereffects. He slowly rose with his son still nestled in his arms to walk over to a small drawer in the bathroom vanity and pull out a thermometer. He had fortunately taken Lindsey's advice a few months ago and had picked up a newfangled type of thermometer he had never heard of before – all he had to do was supposedly gently swipe it over Gus' forehead and it would painlessly give him his son's temperature. He had never used it before, but at that moment he was grateful that he had purchased it recently.

"I'm going to take your temperature, okay, Sonny Boy?" he told his son softly as the little boy snuggled into his chest and nodded. Brian took the instrument out of the package, and tossing the plastic into the garbage, he flipped the thermometer on and slowly swept it over his son's pale, sweaty forehead. He heard a quiet beep to indicate a reading had been taken and brought the instrument up to his eyes to read the LCD printout: 102.4.

Brian's eyes widened in concern; he didn't want to get Gus scared, but this was bad – first vomiting, then a high fever. What he knew about children and what constituted an emergency could fit in the palm of his hand, but this certainly seemed to qualify as one to him. How to know for sure, though? And what should he do about Mel and Lindsey? If he called them, they would no doubt either panic or accuse him of neglecting their son or both, even though he had been nothing but attentive toward Gus since the moment he had taken custody of him. And if he didn't call them, and something happened to his and their son, they would never forgive him.

"Do you feel like you're going to throw up again, Buddy?" he asked the little boy softly as he lay his head against the soft brown hair.

"No, Daddy," Gus told him. "But my head and neck still hurt."

His neck? He hadn't mentioned that before. Brian had heard enough – he would take care of his son first and worry about the consequences later. "We're going to go take a little trip, Sonny Boy," he told his son tenderly. "We're going to find someone to make you feel better."

He slowly walked over to the bed and laid his son down temporarily while he quickly donned a pair of jeans and a dark-blue cable sweater. Thinking of one more thing, he hurried back into the bathroom to pull the medicine drawer open and retrieve some chewable children's acetaminophen for his son to take on the way to the hospital.

Grabbing his keys off the night table, he once more scooped his now-lethargic, pajama-clad son into his arms and, retrieving both their lightweight jackets from the back of a nearby chair, hurried toward the door and yanked it open.

Fifteen Minutes Later

Brian drove like a bat out of hell to get his son to the Children's Hospital downtown; he had never been to this particular hospital before, but he had fortunately driven by it so many times prior to tonight that he knew the quickest and most direct way to get there. With the light traffic at this time of night – plus his lack of hesitation in running several red lights – he came to a screech in front of the emergency room in record time. Barely taking time to put his car in park, he hurriedly opened the driver's door and ran around to open the opposite door to unlatch his son's seatbelt and pick him up into his arms. He noticed with alarm that Gus was breathing shallowly and was barely responsive to him now. "Gus?" he whispered worriedly. "Can you hear me?" His son didn't answer as Brian made a beeline for the double doors that fortunately whooshed open automatically as he approached them.

"I need some help!" he shouted, oblivious to whoever was in the waiting room. This couldn't wait – he didn't know if it was some instinctive thing that a parent just had toward their child or not, but he knew somehow that his son needed to be seen immediately. "Somebody help me!" he shouted once more. "I need a fucking doctor NOW!"

A rather heavyset, short, dark-haired nurse came rushing out from behind the nurses' station toward him. She took one look at the pale, sweaty complexion of the little boy being held in Brian's arms and instructed him, "Come with me," before she turned and hurried through the double, swinging doors into the actual emergency room center. "We need a gurney ASAP!" she shouted authoritatively as two tall, lanky men in Sponge Bob Squarepants uniforms came rushing up, wheeling a gurney.

Brian hesitated, not wanting to remove Gus from his arms but knowing if he wanted his son to get treatment, he needed to. He reluctantly placed his son gently down on the sheet-covered gurney but held tightly onto his hand. "I'm going to be right here, Sonny Boy," he whispered to his son in a desperate attempt to reassure his little boy, but Gus didn't seem to hear. His eyes were closed and his breathing was labored.

"Let's get him into a room," the nurse told the two men. "Put him in Bed 7." As they began to wheel Gus down the hall at a fairly fast clip, Brian kept pace with them, his hand never leaving his son's. After several seconds, the two men made a sharp turn and stopped at the first room on the right.

"I'm going to summon the doctor first," the nurse told Brian, "and then we'll need to get some information from you." Brian nodded his understanding, too upset at the moment to verbalize his concern as the nurse hurried from the cubicle in search of the emergency room doctor assigned for the night.

A few seconds later, Brian looked up to see a man and a woman following the nurse back in. The man, who was wearing a white, mid-length medical coat and a stethoscope around his neck, appeared to be a little older than Brian with almost coal-black, wavy hair and green eyes. The woman who had arrived with him was also wearing a similar length white coat but was considerably younger. Brian estimated she was probably in her early twenties.

"I'm Doctor Broderick," the older man told Brian. He glanced over at the brunet female doctor and said, "And this is a resident in training here at the hospital, Dr. Chanders."

Brian nodded at the introduction but didn't shake their hands – he wasn't about to let go of Gus. "Brian Kinney," he told them, glancing over at his son. "And this is my son, Gus."

Dr. Broderick nodded as the two women listened to the conversation. "And how old is Gus?"

"He just turned four a couple of months ago," Brian told him.

The nurse began to write some information down on the clipboard in her hand as Brian answered the doctor's question. Broderick nodded over at the female resident who walked over to the other side of Gus' gurney and took the stethoscope from around her neck; she gently unbuttoned the little boy's pajama top to place the instrument lightly against his chest to listen to his heartbeat.

"Can you tell me what happened?" The doctor asked.

"He came over for a visit earlier today – he lives with his mother – and we ate some pizza and watched some movies before going to bed around 10. He was sleeping on the other side of my bed and woke me up around midnight to tell me his stomach and head hurt. He then threw up a few minutes later in the bathroom. I took his temperature right after that and it was 102.4. I gave him some chewable Tylenol on the way here." He gazed down alarmed at his son, who hadn't stirred since he had placed him in the car earlier. "He was answering my questions earlier at my loft and now he's not even awake. What's wrong with him?" He swallowed the lump of concern in his throat as he gazed at his son, who looked so small and vulnerable on the gurney.

"That's what we'll have to find out," Dr. Bradshaw told him. "We'll have to run some tests. Was there anything else he complained about earlier?"

Brian shook his head initially before remembering something. "Wait – he did say his neck hurt at one point, too."

The young woman resident raised her head and glanced at the older doctor at that statement. "What?" Brian said, not missing the concerned look they shared. "What is it?"

The doctor told him, "We won't know until we run some tests, Mr. Kinney."

"But you do suspect something, don't you?" he pressed. "Tell me – is it serious?"

"We're going to take some blood samples from your son to rule out some diagnoses. We won't know for sure what it is until we get something to go on. Why don't you give the nurse here your registration information in the meantime? How long ago, by the way, did you give him the Tylenol and how much?"

"About 30 minutes ago, I guess; I gave it to him as soon as we got into my car. It was one of those melt tabs."

The doctor nodded as the nurse wrote the additional information down. "I'll go get the blood work ordered right away," he told Brian; he started to walk out with Daphne close behind when Brian grabbed his forearm with his free hand.

"Doctor, I want to know what you think my son has."

The two doctors looked at each other for a few seconds before Broderick finally advised him sympathetically, "We'll need to run some tests to verify my suspicions; I'm sorry, Mr. Kinney, but it would be irresponsible for me to offer a definitive diagnosis until we do. Can you verify, though, if your son has had the mumps recently?"

Brian frowned; surely the doctor didn't think it was the mumps [- he had had those as a child and knew that disease was more of a nuisance than anything else. He didn't see Gus as regularly as he would like to, so he had no way of knowing whether his son had had the mumps or not. Neither Lindsey nor Melanie had mentioned that to him if he had. "Not that I know of, but I'm not sure. I can try and reach his mother to find out." He deliberately didn't mention the fact that Gus had two mothers; it wasn't that he was trying to hide the fact – he didn't give a shit what these people thought about Gus' rather unorthodox parenting arrangement – but he was more concerned at the moment that Gus got the prompt treatment he needed and was afraid that divulging that unusual fact might just muddy up the waters more than necessary. There would be time to sort through the legal complications later.

Broderick nodded. "I think that would be a good idea – it would help us diagnosis his condition a little more definitively."

"I'll try to call them, then," Brian told the doctor, not savoring by any means the task but knowing he would do it nevertheless if it meant his son could receive the treatment he needed. He was still confused, however, about why the doctor needed to know if Gus had ever had the mumps or not. "Is he going to be all right, Doctor?" he asked a little fearfully.

The doctor stopped to peer into his eyes. "I hope so, Mr. Kinney. He's going to get the best treatment here, I can assure you." He looked over at the young patient intently before continuing. "If you'll excuse me, I'm going to get that blood work ordered. I'll be back shortly. Dr. Chanders, I'd like you to stay with the patient to keep monitoring his vitals until I get back." The young woman nodded as she reached into her coat pocket and produced a thermometer similar to the one Brian had back home. Taking it and lightly sweeping it across Gus' forehead, she viewed the results and frowned.

"What is it?" Brian couldn't help asking.

She looked over at him grimly. "102.6," she announced.

Brian's eyes widened. "That's higher than the last time," he realized. "Why isn't it going down after I gave him some Tylenol?"

She shook her head. "Sometimes it takes a little while for the medicine to kick in," she told him. "We'll use some other supplementary methods to try and cool his body temperature down." Daphne turned to the nurse. "Would you get the registration information from Mr. Kinney and I'll get an orderly to bring a cooling pad in to try and lower his fever? We'll try a sponge bath, also – sometimes that helps as well," she advised Brian.

The nurse nodded in compliance as Daphne rushed out of the room in search of the needed item. "If I could please get some background history on your son and your demographic information," the woman asked somewhat apologetically as Brian silently nodded. As she began to ask him questions, he kept a tight grip on his son's hot hand as he gazed down at him. He had never felt so scared for his son as he did at that moment. Please let him be all right, he silently pleaded. Please….

"Justin!" Daphne called out as she recognized her friend coming out of the service elevator. She was relieved to run into him again – the emergency room was so busy at the moment that she was about ready to give up finding an orderly to help her, and she could think of no one better that she trusted around particularly vulnerable patients than her newly-acquired friend. "Could you help me out?" she asked.

Justin nodded; one rule he had learned quickly upon being hired as an orderly was that a doctor always outweighed a nurse in importance. Even if they didn't, he knew Daphne wouldn't ask for his help unless it was important. "Sure, Doctor," he said, reverting in public to her formal title. "What do you need?"

"Can you go get me a cooling pad from supplies? I also need a sponge and some lukewarm water."

"High fever?" he asked instantly, recognizing what she normally would need those items for.

She nodded. "Yeah – can you meet me in Room 7?"

"Sure," he told her with a smile. Just in the few months he had been here, he had performed quite a few sponge baths for young patients; he felt a sense of accomplishment whenever he was at least partly responsible in successfully getting their fever reduced. He knew that anything over 104 degrees could lead to some serious side effects, so he recognized the vital need to get their fever lowered right away before it got that high.

Rushing over to the nearby supplies closest, he retrieved the key hanging on a lanyard around his neck and quickly unlocked the room to retrieve the items he would need: A pan filled with lukewarm water out of the utility sink, a thick, soft sponge, a couple of large bath-size towels, and a box containing a cooling pad to be placed under the patient. He hurriedly walked out of the room at a brisk pace and headed down the short hallway toward the room Daphne had indicated.

Turning right to enter the room, he observed Daphne holding a young boy's wrist to check his pulse; a nurse he recognized as the head charge nurse for the emergency room department was hooking up equipment to monitor the child's oxygen levels through a finger device. The little body was currently nude from the waist up and was clad only in a pair of Spiderman briefs as he lay quiet and unresponsive. Justin could only tell he was alive by the shallow rising of the tiny chest while the little boy breathed in and out fitfully through his nose and the nurse watched over his oxygen level being displayed on a nearby machine.

A man, who was holding tightly onto the child's hand, looked up as he entered. Their gazes locked for a few seconds as Justin sized up the brunet . Even under the serious circumstances, he couldn't help noticing how incredibly handsome this man was – he was perfectly sculpted, from his slightly-tousled auburn hair, his long, lean, muscular frame toned to just the right amount of hardness, and on down to his long-fingered, elegant hands. The somewhat harsh lights from the overhead glare of the antiseptic fluorescent bulbs reflected off the hazel irises of his worried-looking eyes and gave them specks of gold. Though drawn and tired-looking, his face was strong and determined, with an angular jaw and full, cranberry-lips. Even with the look of concern on his face, Justin thought he was the most gorgeous specimen of man he had ever seen. At that moment, he was grateful that Daphne wasn't taking his pulse because he didn't need an instrument or a doctor to know it was pounding furiously.

As the female resident took his son's pulse, Brian glanced up to see a young, blond male entering the room with the supplies that apparently were going to be used to try and lower Gus' temperature. Still holding onto his son's hand tightly, he couldn't help taking stock of how beautiful this young man was. He had hair the color of highly-polished gold, full, pink lips –especially the lower one – and the eyes; they were the most intriguing shade of sapphire blue he had ever seen. His eyelashes were long and lush as the man lowered his gaze in embarrassment over the intense stare Brian was giving him. As Brian's eyes lingered briefly over the slender frame, he thought of the saying that good things come in small packages, because he thought this man was perfectly proportioned from his slender, pale neck to his trim waist, his surprisingly large cock and all the way down his legs to his sneaker-clad feet. He could only imagine what the orderly's backside looked like; any other time, he would have found a convenience excuse to find out just what treasures were waiting on the other side of that delectable-looking man, but at the moment he was too worried about his son to find out.

"Mr. Kinney," Dr. Chanders told him. "This is Justin, one of our orderlies. He's going to put a cooling pad under your son and give him a sponge bath to try and lower his body temperature."

Brian nodded as he glanced down at his unresponsive son. His heart was in his throat as he gazed at the flushed, sweaty face. Gus hadn't shown any hint of movement since arriving at the hospital; he would feel so much more reassured if only he could speak to his son and tell him that everything would be okay.

"Excuse me," he heard a soft, baritone voice saying. He looked up to gaze into the pools of blue fastened to the beautiful blond orderly. "Could you lift your son up just a little so I can slide this pad under him?"

Justin gazed into those hazel eyes and was absolutely captivated by their ever-changing shades of green, brown and gold. The two stared at each other for a couple of seconds before Brian nodded silently and reached down to gently lift his son a few inches off the gurney so Justin could place the white, rectangular pad underneath his son. Nodding to him, Justin waited until Brian had gingerly laid his son back down on the surface before he reached into the plastic pan he had lying nearby and squeezed the water out of a large, brown sponge.

Brian watched in fascination as the blond brought the sponge over to his son and began to almost reverently brush it against the flushed, perspiration-soaked forehead. He observed him gently lift his son's left arm and lightly skim over the slim little wrist and hand before slowly, gingerly moving upward toward his son's shoulder and chest. The movements were deliberate and soothing, undoubtedly not only to Gus but to his own bruised and aching soul as well as he watched the careful, tender ministrations of this beautiful-looking stranger. His hands were so long-fingered and pale, almost like some alabaster doll, and he admired his long, silky eyelashes as the stranger concentrated on his important task. He was astounded by how loving and kind this other man's movements were toward his son as he watched him carefully and thoroughly wash over every uncomfortable, scorching part of his son's body.

Justin dipped the sponge several times in the lukewarm water to refresh the material before returning to his task, taking special care to address every part of the little boy's skin. He knew how important it was to get the patient's body temperature lowered as soon as possible and he couldn't stand the idea of this precious little child being subjected to something like that. He stole a look over at the father, who was still holding the little boy's hand firmly. It was obvious to him how much he loved his son. "What's his name?" he asked softly.

Brian raised his eyes to gaze into the sky-colored orbs and replied with a slightly choked-up voice, "Gus. His name's Gus."

Justin nodded with a slight smile. "He looks a lot like you," he decided. "How old is he?" he asked, staring at the adorable little face; in his current state, despite the chalky-looking pallor and the sweaty forehead, Gus looked like a little, fallen angel.

"Four," Brian whispered as he gazed down at his son. "He's four." He swallowed hard, anxiously waiting until the other doctor returned with the results of his son's blood work. He silently prayed that whatever the problem was, it was something that could be rectified soon. He couldn't even entertain the thought of something happening to his precious son who meant more to him than he ever thought possible. He realized at that moment that he could never be a replica of his shithole of a father – his love for his son was too pure and deep, the total antithesis of what his father has felt for him.

He looked up at the orderly as he heard the young resident tell him, "That's good, Justin. I'd better let you get going. Thanks."

Justin smiled at the female doctor and said, "You're welcome – glad I could help. Let me know if I can do anything else."

Daphne nodded at him gratefully; she was always so impressed with the care and special attention Justin paid to each and every young patient – she thought he would make a hell of a nurse, but she knew from previous conversations with him over their lunches that he had his heart set on being an artist. She couldn't deny that he was definitely talented from the few sketches Justin had given her the privilege of seeing – she thought, though, that the hospital was definitely going to be the loser when Justin eventually moved on to a full-time art career, but for now she would definitely take advantage of his compassion and his grace.

"I sure will – I'll see you later," she told him. Justin smiled slightly and nodded at Brian. "I hope your little boy gets better real soon," he said softly before quietly gathering up his pan and sponge and leaving.

Brian looked over in surprise as the orderly left; apparently these two were more than just co-workers at the hospital. Did they have some other type of closer relationship? He was normally a good judge of character and his sense of attraction toward another man was usually spot on when it came to whether the other person was gay or not, and when this amazing man walked into the room, he could have sworn his gaydar rang out loud and clear. Was it possible he had been wrong? He supposed it could certainly be true, because he was focused at the moment on his son. Any other time, he would have steadfastly set out to determine whether he was right or not; but right now, it was the last thing on his mind as he gazed back at the little boy lying so quiet and still.

"How long until we find out what's wrong with him?" he asked Daphne, never taking his eyes off his son as he spoke.

"It shouldn't be too long," she assured him. "I'm sure the doctor put a rush on the test results."

Brian finally looked over at her. "You have a good idea what it is, don't you?" he pressed her.

She looked a little uncomfortable at him for a few seconds before saying quietly, "Yes, we think we know what it is, and I would really like to tell you. But as Dr. Broderick said, it's not proper to give you a diagnosis until we're sure. I'm sorry – I hope you understand."

Brian sighed. "I don't like it, no, but I guess I realize why you can't tell me. But if anything happens to him….." He couldn't complete the statement – the alternative was just too much to bear.

His eyes darted to the door as the other doctor rushed in holding a clipboard with some paperwork attached. He looked at Daphne and nodded. "We just got the test results back, Mr. Kinney. I know what your son is suffering from now." He flipped up the cover page to reread the blood test results to make sure once more that he was correct – there was no mistake.

Brian held his breath as the doctor looked at him intently, unflinching. "Mr. Kinney…..Your son has meningitis."