Chapter 4
When Nate returned to the hitter's hospital room, he was followed into the room by his friend's main consultant. The man had a tired smile on his face as he strode to his patient's bedside, his right hand placed gently into his pocket whilst the left held a clipboard and pen, tightly to his chest. "Mr. Krane, My name is Dr. Davis and I am the one who will be treating you from now on."
Eliot gave a small nod in response, he needed to save his voice for the important stuff, like asking when he could leave.
"If you'll give me just a short moment so I can check a few things, then I'll be right with you."
...
The next few minutes were filled with a stark silence, the only sound being the quiet tapping of pen hitting plastic, whilst the doctor conferred with his notes.
...
"Ok... If you are feeling up to it, I would like to discuss your current condition."
Eliot tried for another nod, but the pain in his head caused him to wince.
"Try not to move around too much. You've retained a large amount of damage... I don't want to overwhelm you, so if you feel you need a break, just let me know."
The physician was about to roll right on through without hesitation but Nate quickly interrupted from the corner. "Eliot, I'm just gonna make a quick call. Unless you want me to stay for this. I know how you like your privacy with this stuff."
And that was true, but it wasn't really the reason the mastermind was leaving. No, if he was to truly be honest, the mastermind would admit to himself that the only reason he'd managed to stay in the hospital for so long, was his strong friendship with the hitter and the sense of duty he felt towards his team.
But this part right here, when Eliot got told how different his life could be from now on, how he might never be able to do the things he loved and relied on again, Nate just couldn't witness that.
...Not for a second time at least.
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Maggie was trying to hold back the tears that really should have run out by now, but a few small drops still managed to escape and roll down her cheek. She'd been crying non-stop for about three hours, all the way from the doctor's office through the dining hall and into the family waiting area. But here in this room, the one where her only child was lying happily in his bed, she needed to be brave if only for his sake.
Because soon that bright little smile would be gone, and she didn't know if they may ever get it back.
"Hello, Sammy. Do you remember me?" The doctor lowered himself down to the young boy, whose hair was coloured like his mother's (light and wavy with hints of white where the sun just caught it right), but his eyes were that of his father's (an almost grey-ish blue, with a darker ring that circles them). The kid was smiling down into his lap before the medic spoke, but he looked up as soon as he realized someone was talking to him.
"Yes, sir. You're the doc that gave me a lolly pop."
"That's right," the physician chuckled. "Do you remember going for some tests that day?"
The kid nodded, his smile dropping slightly as he probably thought back on the multiple blood samples he was forced to give.
"Well, we did those so we could find out why you've been feeling so poorly. And well..." This part was always the hardest, but the parents often have the final say and they wanted their son to know at least a small bit of the truth, so here he goes..."We found something inside you and that's what's making your tummy hurt."
It was too much for Maggie to hear the diagnosis again, for the second time in as many hours, (even if it was a very simplified version, made palatable for her little boy) so she ended up having to turn away for a moment, burying her face into the warm comfort of her husband's shoulder. Nate however, stood strong, watching as his son somehow took the news in stride.
"Can you take it out?"
"We're going to try."
Because, if his kid could be brave when hearing this terrible news, so could he. Everyone just needed to ignore the incessant trembling that was moving up his hand.
.
After a brief confirmation from the hitter that he was free to leave, the mastermind quickly exited the room, making room for the doctor to take his place in the chair next to the patient's bed.
"Eliot, we're going to take this step by step. If you have any questions, feel free to stop me. And no question is stupid, so don't be embarrassed." He paused then, to gauge the response his patient gave. All the man could manage was a slight raise of his eyebrow, but still, seeing it as the positive sign it was intended to be, Dr. Davis continued. "We'll start with the minor injuries first." Another small change in facial expression, this time a small widening of the eyes, and the medic went on. "You have quite a few small contusions and bruises along your arms, legs, chest, back, and face. Most of these will heal in a few days. There were some more severe cuts that required stitches, as well some deeper bruising."
Hearing this was no surprise to the hitter, in fact, this was all pretty much expected given that he apparently was in some kind of accident. He hadn't had the chance to ask Nate what had happened, and if he would need a cover story for it, but he was 65% sure that it had something to do with a bike chase.
"When you were admitted, you were in shock caused by blood loss. You were rushed into surgery where they discovered a ruptured spleen. I'm afraid the damage was too much to save the organ so it had to be removed. This shouldn't have much of an impact on your health, but I believe your brother has been given some information on complications you may face."
Dr. Davis was just about to move on ahead with his list of diagnoses, but Eliot's gravelly voice halted his explanation. "You said I was in shock... Was there any damage to my other organs?" The medic was actually rather stunned by his patient's medical understanding, he hadn't read anything in history that would explain that kind of knowledge. And apparently, that read on his face, because the hitter soon began to explain himself. "I enlisted when I was eighteen. Saw a lot of soldiers get discharged due to organ damage after going into shock." He then shrugged nonchalantly.
With a nod of understanding, the doc then coughed and answered the patient's original query. "We don't know yet. At the moment there haven't been any signs, but you're being monitored just in case." He then looked back down to his notes, finding where he was at. "You are also being watched by a Dr. Singh from neurology. He should be paying you a visit sometime this afternoon to give you an exam. At the moment your CT has shown a Cerebral Edema, basically swelling on the brain. So we're keeping an eye out for any changes that may suggest that the swelling is getting worse or causing any problems... But at the moment you seem fully aware and you're not showing any symptoms that would concern us."
It wasn't exactly the news he wanted to hear, and for a few seconds, Eliot's eyes grew cold and unseeing as he slowly took in the new information.
Dissociation was what the psychiatrist called it, (a way for the soldier to take in details that could either upset or frighten him, without really having to acknowledge them) and it was yet another sign of his ongoing battle with undocumented PTSD.
It first cropped up in the midst of a battle, where tough decisions had to be made and even tougher sacrifices. One moment Eliot was right there charging down to face his enemy, about a dozen young men running alongside him as the loud sound of gunfire burst his eardrums, but then in the next, he was standing still like a statue, with a silence that was almost deafening, and about two dozen bloody corpses lying at his feet. Yeah, he managed to save more men than was predicted, and the ambush they faced left the commander with very few options other than attack. But still...
After that, Eliot'd had several other episodes, all of which occurred in very stressful situations. The only upside of this condition was that somehow that hitter still managed to function, with his body going into what he best described as autopilot mode.
In the end, it would often take Eliot a few hours to break out of his trance-like state, and this time probably wouldn't have been any different, if not for the medic sitting next to him, who quickly opened his mouth.
"Are you ok continue?"
Shaking his head briefly in order to get his eyes to refocus, the hitter then smiled and nodded at his doctor, encouraging him to continue.
"Ok, well you have got a number of fractures along both legs, both arms, your right foot, three fingers, and your pelvis. But I'm glad to report that your neck and spine appear to be undamaged. The worse of the breaks is in your right leg. We had to take you back into surgery to have a metal rod placed, and there is a large wound where the bone broke through." He would have mentioned the certainty of a scar, but his patient already had a pretty impressive collection, so they probably wouldn't be too bothered by another.
It appeared as if the patient suddenly remembered something after hearing that set of findings, as he sat up a little straighter and coughed before asking a question. "Is that why I'm numb on my right side? Wasn't sure if it was the meds or not."
"Are you experiencing numbness in your right leg?" The doctor spoke firmly, concern sitting heavily in his tone. He then got up taking the chart and pen with him, watching as the hitter nodded his head minutely.
"And my right arm. Had it since the crash, I think... I remember waking up in the air ambulance. My left side was on fire, but I couldn't feel a thing on my right."
On hearing this, the medic walked quickly, over to the foot of the patient's bed. "Tell me if you can feel this." He then stroked the end of his pen down the hitter's left thigh, the hard plastic tip pressing in slightly onto the lightly tanned skin. Eliot nodded as a twitch pulsed through his leg, causing the limb to jump almost imperceptibly. "And again." The medic then repeated the action on the right thigh, hoping for the same result, only to be disappointed. It was the same with his arms. The left twitched as the pen glided across his skin, but the right remained numb.
"Is it bad, Doc?" Eliot was trying to keep his composure, but the small increase in his heart rate still managed to trigger an alert on the machine sitting next to him.
The sudden change in rhythm quickly prompted Dr. Davis to move in closer to his patient and place the oxygen mask back on his face.
"That's it, just take a few deep breaths for me. We don't want to put too much pressure on those battered ribs now, do we."
It didn't take long for the hitter to calm down again, so once he was breathing a little easier, the medic took a few readings and deemed it safe for him to continue.
"I'll be honest, I can't say for the moment what this means. It may be temporary, or it could be a sign of nerve damage. I'll also have to discuss this with Dr. Singh as a possible sign of neurological damage."
.
.
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After leaving the hitter's hospital room, Nate casually strolled down to the far end of the hall, making his way to the recently discovered coffee machine. His phone was rotating in his hand as he considered the call he was about to make, thinking about what he should ring, and what he may tell them, as he pressed the machine's buttons and slid a paper cup under the narrow stained nozzle. It was only after a few minutes of stewing, whilst his drink cooled to a drinkable level, the mastermind dialled a number from memory.
"Hardison?"
"Yeah, I'm here. How's our boy doing?"
Nate sighed, (god he wished they'd stop calling Eliot that) and took a large mouthful of his drink. "He's awake... and growling, which I guess is a good sign. The doctor is in with him now." The coffee was rancid, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth, but what else could you expect from a hospital?
"Are we still good to come in later?"
"Yeah, although don't expect too much from him. He's still a bit out of it from the surgery."
"No problem, I'll let the others know... Do you want anything bringing? Should I pick up some clothes for El?"
Nate was about to answer yes, it was a natural response from the very few times the hitter had actually ended up in an emergency room, but then he thought better of it. "No, leave all that for now. I don't want to give him a chance to escape before his doctor clears him."
It wasn't meant as a joke but the mastermind could still hear the small chuckle from down the line.
"Pretty sure a lack of clothes would stop him. Did you forget that time he left our hotel wearing nothing but a bath towel? You know... when that assassin came looking for him. Ha, for a short guy, he is really good at jumping hedges."
It was actually quite a fond memory for Nate, even if the circumstances were kind of terrifying at the time. And the mastermind couldn't help joining his hacker as they laughed almost silently. "Yeah well, anything to slow him down would be a huge help." He then sobered slightly, taking another large gulp from his coffee, hoping to delay the thought that was quickly spewing out of his mouth. "Damnit Hardison, you know he's done quite a number on himself. I'm not even sure if he can bounce back from this." And Nate didn't know if it was the coffee or his words that left the bitter taste in his mouth this time around. If it wasn't for the hacker's next try at encouragement, the mastermind would probably have given up all hope and abandoned his friend for the nearest bar.
"Don't worry, Nate. We'll all get him through this... together"
.
.
.
"Nock, nock," came the mastermind's firm but gentle tone as he carefully leaned his head around the white sliding door. He'd been standing outside for a few minutes beforehand, a fresh cup of coffee, (this one from the café across the street) and a newspaper held firmly in his grasp, as he tried to build up the courage to step inside. But now, he was just waiting for a nod of approval, before he could slowly slip the rest of his body inside.
On hearing the long familiar voice, Eliot's gaze shifted slightly toward the other man in the room, and soon after he gave a subtle nod to give the mastermind his much-needed permission.
Once that was sorted, and after spending thirty or so seconds walking here and there inside the hitter's hospital room, Nate finally reached Eliot's bedside, and softly asked, "Hey El, you feeling alright?" But he looked nervous as he did so, his eyes often drifting to anything that wasn't his fallen friend's face. "What did the doctor say?"
The hitter sighed before attempting to use his fading voice. "Basically, a bunch of we can't know until later crap. I hate these waiting games."
It was hard for Nate to see his friend looking so defeated all of a sudden, even if he wasn't really looking at him properly. It was all there in the younger man's voice though, and it just reminded the mastermind of his own pessimistic ramblings as he spoke to the hacker not even an hour ago. "I'm sure it won't be that much longer." So, he tried to be the strong voice of reason that Hardison had been for him, reminding Eliot that, "they just don't want to rush things and come to the wrong conclusion," but it didn't seem to do much to improve his friend's mood.
Sighing, Nate then placed his coffee on the bedside table and started to analyze the hitter's current state.
He was lying prone on the cotton bedspread, his body held at a slight angle, with a few bars added for support, elevating his injured limbs a few inches off of the mattress. According to Eliot's doctor, lying completely flat would put further pressure on his brain, which could worsen the swelling. So for the time being, he needed to keep his head raised and very still so as not to cause any more damage to himself.
Also, despite the fact that his breathing had improved tremendously since that last little episode when Dr. Davis was in the room, the hard plastic oxygen mask was still resting on the hitter's face, leaving a slight divet in his skin where it pressed down too hard. And for some other unknown reason, the often ill-tempered man had not yet attempted to remove it.
You see, normally Eliot would have been ripping the thing off and pulling out his IV by this time yesterday, but here and now he was... calm? No, that's not the right word, he was obviously unsettled by the situation, it was more of a... resigned acceptance of his fate.
And then there were his eyes. They were sitting at half-mast, the blue in them duller than usual, the only sign of life being the slight flicker of pain that sometimes flashed behind them.
Nate couldn't imagine how hurt the hitter must be feeling to actually let it show. He was on pain meds, just not enough to make him loopy. It's difficult to measure a patient's brain function when they're completely out of it on drugs.
Eliot kept trying to move his splintered hand on reflex, causing pain to shoot up his arm. But at least that meant he was feeling something, because, without looking at it, he couldn't tell that his right hand was even there.
"The doc says I'm being monitored to see if a have nerve damage or if there's something wrong with my brain." He didn't look at Nate when he spoke, afraid to see the pity that was undoubtedly there. And before the other man could speak, Eliot quickly jumped in with some more bad news. "Because... Damnit, Nate! I can't feel my right leg and arm... Haven't since the accident."
The mastermind sucked in an audible breath. He had feared as much since he first heard Eliot say that he couldn't move. He was hoping that he meant that he was trapped or in too much pain. But now he knew that they could be facing the worst-case scenario.
"We'll just have to wait and see what the doc says."
.
.
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The rest of the team had turned up about an hour ago.
As the group of thieves gathered around the hospital bed, they each tried their best not to show their concern, but Eliot's whole career relied on his ability to read people and determine behavior. He could see it all, in the way Nate was holding himself, still and stiff almost like a statue, the small tremble in Parker's lower lip, how Hardison's voice raised slightly in pitch. Even the great Sophie Devereaux couldn't fool him, as she tried, unsuccessfully, to hide her worn and bitten-down fingernails from view.
They were all sitting as close to the hitter as possible, ignoring Hardison as he detailed why his new processor was a significant improvement over his old one and will vastly boost his hacking talents, and were all much relieved when one Dr. Singh interrupted them.
"Hello, Mr. Krane. My name is Dr. Singh, and I have been asked to be your neurological consultant."
"Hi, Doc," Eliot's voice rasped roughly, and was shortly followed by a weak-sounding cough. His throat was slowly healing, (with Sophie helping the process along by regularly feeding him ice chips any time he made a small sound) but he still struggled to get his words out clearly, and needed to take long pauses between even just a few short phrases. "Please call me Eliot."
"Of course," the medic replied, pausing for a few seconds to re-examine his chart. "Now, if it's okay with you, I just need to do an assessment to see if the Edema is causing any problems. If that is the case, It may be that we suggest some further medication to help treat it" He then shuffled to the end of the patient's bed, a troubled expression on his face as he looked around the room and its many occupants. "I'm afraid we will need your visitors to leave while I finish the examination, however, you are free to choose someone to stay with you if that would make you feel more comfortable."
Eliot took a moment to look at each of his friends' faces as they implored for him to say yes while also pleading for it not to be them. Even Nate had his eyes turned away slightly, his lip rubbing raw where his teeth had worried over it, despite being there for everything that had gone before. In the end, the hitter just shifted back to the doctor and said, "I'd rather not have an audience, it that's ok."
It was a bit of a blow for the group of thieves to hear their teammate's request stated so firmly, but they accepted it (if grudgingly), slowly shuffling themselves out of the hospital room, and back down the corridor, eventually leaving their comrade in the safe care of his doctor.
"Eliot, I'm going to ask you a few simple questions. I know that you're finding it hard to talk so try to keep it to one-word answers if you can." He walked over to the side of the bed and made himself comfy in a pulled-up chair. "First, I'm going to list off some symptoms and I want you to tell me yes or no to whether you have experienced them since you woke up..."
.
Headache?
Yes
Nausea?
Yes
Vomiting?
No
Dizziness?
Yes
Memory problems?
Yes
Speech problems?
Not since the ambulance
Seizures?
No
Vision loss?
No
Sudden loss of consciousness?
No
Difficulty moving?
Yeah, my right leg and arm are numb
.
Once that task was completed, Dr. Singh took a few minutes to go over every piece of information just given to him, a wrinkled and calloused hand flicking through each and every page, adding notes where needed. And as soon as these details were carefully documented, the medic turned to his patient ready to gather some more. "You mentioned memory problems, can you explain that to me?"
Before responding, Eliot requested some ice chips, and the doctor served him a teaspoon while patiently waiting for the man to finish. "I can't actually remember what happened to me. I know I was in a chopper at some point, and then I woke up in this room. But I don't know how I was injured, except a small feeling that it had something to do with my motorbike." The hitter then started to shrug but abandoned the motion quickly.
"I can confirm that you were in an accident involving your motorbike. You were riding along a mountain road when you came off your bike and then fell quite some distance. You were awake at some point after the crash, which is how your friends managed to find you."
Trying to keep as still as possible, (the pain meds were starting to ease their way out of his system, but he wasn't yet ready to ask for some more) Eliot sighed and shook his head as he told his doctor, "Yeah, I don't remember that at all." And that should probably worry him some more (and probably would do) if this wasn't his first rodeo with amnesia. After a while, you just get used to missing huge chunks out of your life. Besides as his neurologist was probably about to inform him...
"That's pretty common actually, and you may never regain that particular memory, but that shouldn't alarm you."
The doctor then made some more notes and then peered over a pair of thick-rimmed glasses to ask, "You seem to be making new memories, and I take it that the ones from before the accident are fine?"
"Yeah, pretty sure I'm good there."
"Good. We're going to keep monitoring you for at least 72 hours. At the moment, you're being given two types of medication in regard to your head injury. The first is a Corticosteroid to reduce the swelling and the second is an anti-seizure drug. You had a couple of fits whilst under the anaesthetic, so we have given you something that should prevent any further seizures while you're healing. This may just be a temporary measure while the swelling in your brain goes down, but if it's not, then there are plenty of drugs that can manage the condition."
Taking a deep breath, Dr. Singh paused before getting to the hard part...
...
...
"As for the numbness on your right-hand side, I'm afraid we can't know for certain what the cause is until you have had the chance to heal some more..."