Chapter 5
The next two days dragged on slowly, and being unable to move meant that Eliot had to accept the team's constant prodding, both physically and mentally.
To make matters worse, the doctor said it would take at least three weeks for his leg to heal sufficiently for rehab, and he then informed the patient that he would be bedridden for the duration, allowing his muscles plenty of time to atrophy.
(And truth be told, the hitter could already feel himself going stiff due to lack of activity.)
As for the team, they were always there during visiting hours, and Nate was permitted to stay a little longer than that, just not while his 'brother' slept.
...
The mastermind had only taken a short trip across the road for coffee, but when he returned, the hitter's room was completely empty, bar the nightstand and a plastic cup he'd been sipping on. So Nate was just about to chuck his cup to the floor and go running down to the nurses' station when Eliot got rolled through the door.
"Thank God... Is everything ok?" His voice was shaky, the shock from finding his friend missing still holding an effect.
"Yeah, everything is fine," said a fairly young nurse as she pushed the hitter's bed back into place (the man himself looked pretty tired from the day's activities). "We just took your brother here to get his CT scan done." Shen then applied the brakes to the bed's wheels before slightly altering the patient's blanket to keep his legs warm. "The doctor should be down soon to discuss the results."
And it appeared that her information was correct, given that Dr Singh did indeed enter the room a few minutes later, looking fairly happy with himself, which of course, calmed the mastermind significantly.
"Good news then, Doc?" Eliot's voice was a lot stronger today, the damage from the breathing tube having long since healed. But Nate couldn't help but notice a distinct lack of enthusiasm in the hitter's tone when he addressed his doctor.
Still, the medic didn't seem to care, or if he did he didn't let on as he answered his patients question. "Actually, yes. I have the results of your latest CT scan and I can tell you that the swelling has decreased. I want to keep you on the medication for another 24 hours, but after that, I think we can take you off both the Corticosteroid and the anti-seizure drug and see how you cope." He picked up the patient's chart and started to make some notes. "Have you had any improvement in your symptoms lately?"
"The truth, Doc?" Eliot sighed, rubbing his temples for what seemed like the hundredth time today. Because he expected things to be better by now, but when he woke up this morning he noticed that... "The headaches have started getting worse, and I keep experiencing these dizzy spells and nausea. As for my right side, I still can't move or feel it."
Well that wasn't good, and having heard his patient's devastating plea, the doctor deflated a bit. However, he tried to hide his disappointment from the man lying in front of him, especially as he explained, "It may take time to see any improvement, Eliot, but rest assured it will come."
"And in the meantime?"
"We have ways to manage the pain you're in, as well as medication for the sickness you've been having. And then we'll discuss it in a few days and if nothing has changed, we'll do some more tests."
"So it's another case of wait and we'll see?"
"I'm afraid so."
The hitter exhaled dramatically, dropping his arms onto his bed in heavy resignation.
"Perfect."
As he stood on the sidelines, Nate felt like he was intruding on this moment of vulnerability from the often-invincible hitter, the guilt practically eating him up inside with every painfully spoken truth. Because he could see that his teammate was struggling but his need for knowledge left him with so many questions that Eliot may not be ready to ask. It was probably wrong of him to do so, but the mastermind saw no other option as he decided to use his alias as Nate Krane, brother of the patient, to ask the doctor some questions in a private space outside of the room.
"What do you think is wrong with him? If the swelling is going down, shouldn't the headaches and all that other stuff be going away as well?"
Before responding to the older man's questions, Dr Singh twisted himself around to ensure that the sliding door was completely shut, thus blocking out any sound from their conversation.
"I'll be honest with you. The longer it takes to treat Cerebral Edema, the more chance it has to do permeant damage. In your brother's case, we treated the swelling quickly and efficiently as soon as we discovered it... But there was a delay in performing the CT scan because of the surgery he had on arrival. There were a few hours where the Edema was causing significant pressure on Eliot's brain, and these symptoms could be a result of that."
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Despite the movie playing in the background, the hospital room was relatively quiet, without so much as a fly buzzing in the air or a chair scraping across the floor. Which of course was much different from the team's previous visits and obviously had Hardison fidgeting nervously in his seat as he tried his hardest not to disturb that calm atmosphere. Being the only one there for a change, the hacker was actually doing a pretty good job at it (surprisingly), keeping his mouth shut and eyes focused on the screen as they avoided talking about things. And he was starting to get used to the feeling of heavy tension on his shoulders.
That was until...
"Spit it out, Hardison." The hacker's whole body jumped up about an inch in surprise before his head turned to the hitter in question. "Whatever it is that has you squirming in your seat over there. Just ask me and get it over with."
Thinking about it, there was actually quite a few things Hardison wanted to ask his friend, most of them waging a miniature war inside his stomach causing it to flip violently. But at the end of the day, one question seemed to always triumph over the rest.
"I guess..." He sighed, asking himself how he was going to phrase this. "I was wondering what your plans were, you know, once you get out of here? Maybe you had a bucket list or something, of things you wanted to try."
"And you think now would be a time to try those things? Whilst I'm in a wheelchair and immunocompromised."
"Ummm..."
Eliot waved the hacker off, his attempt at joviality being highly misinterpreted.
"No, Hardison, I haven't really thought about it." And he'd been trying to avoid thinking about it for as long as he could, thank you very much. For now, at least, the hitter needed to concentrate on maintaining the appearance that he was mostly fine. But that was difficult to do when thoughts kept bouncing around his head, causing it to ache painfully as a strange sensation flowed through him like a wave. "I suppose I'll just have to see where the wind takes me."
"That's Cool. But you still have us and the Brewpub, you know that, right?"
"Yeah man, I know."
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It was dark, and Eliot was meant to be asleep by now but the pulsing in his head was making that difficult. It felt like a continuous pounding behind his left eye, rhythmic and steady like a drum beat, sometimes making the side of his face twitch as if the muscle was spasming.
And then to make matters worse, Eliot was convinced by the rolling in his stomach, that if he`d actually managed to eat that garbage they called dinner, he would undoubtedly be throwing it up by now. Probably with great force and velocity, all over the floor or his bedding, and not for the first time, I might add. Instead, however, the nurse just informed the doctor of the hitter's inability to eat, who then gave instructions to attach a nutrient bag to his IV.
God, he was getting tired of people pumping him full of things.
That same nurse would be checking in on him soon. During the previous night, the hitter woke up from what he told them was a nightmare, but in reality, was a flashback that he got quite regularly when stressed. So that wouldn't have been so bad, Eliot could have easily dealt with an old memory coming back to haunt him, it was the sudden jolt to sitting that was the issue, the one that threw his dizziness into overdrive. He then spent the next half hour dry heaving into a tray the poor girl was holding out in front of him, clearly keeping it at arm's length in case something did come out of the hitter's abused insides. Finally, once his stomach had settled, a trainee doctor was called so Eliot could be sedated while he dealt with the pain.
The idea of going through that two nights in a row only added to his sleep troubles, but if he didn't drop off soon the nurse would have to sedate him again.
He tried rolling over to a more comfortable position, only to be reminded that 1) there were no comfortable positions, and 2) he couldn't move almost an entire half of his body. The only thing his attempt managed to achieve was a whole lot of pain and another layer to his headache.
"Are you alright, Mr. Krane?" A different nurse wandered into his room, one who he still recognized though, looking quite concerned as she took notice of the hitter's quickly pailing face.
"Think I'm gonna..." He didn't get around to finishing his sentence, a brown cardboard bowl moving quickly under his chin. Luckily, he was already sitting partly upright so only his head needed to move. A little over a minute later he was able to breathe again.
"There you go, try to breath a little slower for me." The nurse spoke softly as she smoothed back the patient's hair, taking a piece of tissue from the table to wipe along his mouth to clear away spit. "Feeling better now?"
She and the other nurses were growing rather fond of the man with the Southern accent, which made seeing him like this so much harder. So much was still uncertain about his recovery, and they could tell that the added stress of not knowing was making things worse.
Sarah herself had begun to notice that during the day her patient seemed... Not happy... positive maybe? Like he had something to look forward to. But that was most likely just an act for his friends and brother, because once they went home, the poor guy looked defeated and despondent as if he had nothing left to hang onto in this world. And who could blame him? What with the constant pain and sickness, and the hard reality that he may never be the same again, and that some of these disabilities may be permanent... Hell, she'd be a bit depressed as well.
The hitter sighed, he wasn't feeling any better but telling her that would do nothing. "A bit, thanks." He didn't even bother trying to hide the lie, he was too tired to grift at this point.
"Do you think you'll be able to sleep tonight or do you need another sedative?"
He really wanted to try and sleep without aid, but it had been hours and if it wasn't happening now then it probably wouldn't later. "M' head's pounding too hard for me to fall asleep." The nurse nodded her understanding before heading off to page the on-call.
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It had been a few days since he came off the medication for his brain swelling. After two sleepless nights due to headaches, and six skipped meals thanks to nausea, the doctor started him on some new meds that prevented migraines. To Eliot's relief, they actually seemed to be working, and he had managed to eat a small amount of breakfast that morning. The only problem was that Dr Singh had said that he would have to stay on the meds probably permanently, if he didn't take his daily dose, the pain, nausea and dizziness would just come back.
The other things on his checklist, however, didn't seem to be an issue. They had done some neurological exams and his speech, vision and memory were completely normal. They were still looking into his leg and arm, but they were more or less convinced that it was a nerve problem, which meant that it might fix itself over time or with rehab.
Nate was taking the news really well; he saw every new bit of information as a huge step forward. Eliot didn't want to ruin his mood but the mastermind's endless stream of positivity was driving him insane. It was too early for this and he knew that the others would be arriving soon, adding to the peppy atmosphere. He couldn't see what everyone was so happy about. He was still stuck in bed waiting for the other shoe to drop.
"So, Eliot, what did you want to do today? If you have any films you want to watch Hardison's bringing over his laptop, I'm sure he can get his hands on pretty much anything."
"If it's all the same, I kinda just want to be left alone right now." He couldn't even turn to face away; his body just lay there completely open.
"I don't think the others will be too keen on that. They want to celebrate with you, that was some pretty good news you got today." For someone who was married to a grifter, he was kind of oblivious to the clear apathy his hitter was showing. Either that or he was willfully ignoring it.
"I'm just tired, Nate. Last night was the first time I've managed to fall asleep by myself, and it still wasn't for that long." Normally he would hide his issues with sleep deprivation, laugh it off even. But if he could use it to get his own way... "Can I just have a day to m'self?"
The mastermind got up and paced at the end of the bed. How could he put his concerns into words without offending his teammate?
"I would do that El, but... your doctor is concerned about you. He doesn't want you spending too much time alone thinking about your injuries." Doctor Singh had actually said a lot more than that, but even Nate was in a bit of denial regarding those sorts of problems. "He thinks that distractions would be good for you. Think of it as a stress reliever."
Eliot wanted to rub his temples but that would send Nate's alarm bells ringing. "I get that, but I ain't feeling like good company."
"They won't mind, they just want to make you feel better."
"Maybe I like feeling lousy, it seems appropriate right now."
Nate gave him a soft smile. "But today has been a good day. You're on the mend, and some of the concerns have been crossed off the list. Things are getting better."
"Yeah, things are really great right now," the hitter scoffed, rolling his eyes in disregard. "Damnit, Nate. I'm gonna be stuck in this bed for a least another couple of weeks, and we don't even know if I'll be able to do the physio by then because of this nerve damage. That gives my body plenty of time to atrophy meaning more pain and rehabilitation." The more Eliot spoke, the angrier he got and he was being forced to take in shallow breaths as he spoke. "I'm still on the watch list for possible organ damage... And, I just found out that I won't be able to go a day without taking these stupid pills to function." And it was despite those new medications that his head was still killing him. Plus it felt weird, like his body was trying to warn him of something but he didn't know what. "So tell me, Nate, how is this looking good?"
And just like, the man in question was left speechless. Just stood there, motionless, mouth agape and unable to respond...
...
While he was still considering an answer for his friend, the mastermind suddenly witnessed Eliot's body slump into his pillow, his hands falling to his sides like dead weights, bouncing against the mattress. It was only a second later that the hitter's head arched backwards exposing the long lines of his thick neck as his torso twitched uncontrollably. The monitors surrounding Eliot then burst into life, whilst his chest jerked violently still, (the force of the motion apparently strong enough to pull his arms and legs along with it) until finally, a small team of medical staff rushed into there. The most senior of them shouting...
"Patient is seizing!"