The drive to the hospital was an anxious, and mostly silent one. Paul drove at the speed limit, only because he dreaded being pulled over by the police and delayed further. Perry, his mind fully working again, remembered that Della had once said that she had no doctor in Los Angeles. Without future delay, he used the wireless telephone in Paul's car to phone his own personal physician and good friend, Dr. William Hawley. Paul Drake, overhearing their conversation, realized that for the first time in his life, he was hearing the strong and independent Perry Mason beg another man for a favor. The circumstance was made even more incredible by the fact that he did not have to - the generous physician was more than willing to help and was, providentially, already at the hospital seeing other patients. He promised to meet Della's ambulance the minute that it arrived at the emergency room, and hung up. The knowledge that his secretary would be in Dr. Hawley's capable hands consoled Perry a great deal as Paul's sportscar hurried through Los Angeles.

When they arrived at St. Mary's Hospital, Paul let Perry out at the front entrance and drove on to the parking lot alone. The lawyer quickly found his way to the emergency room and nervously asked after Della. He was told by the charge nurse that she had indeed arrived and was being tended to by Dr. Hawley, and that the physician would come speak to him as soon as he had further information. Then, he was shown into an empty waiting room, where, after awhile, Paul Drake joined him.

Perry walked back and forth, back and forth across the small room like a caged tiger, slamming his right fist into his left palm at irregular intervals. Paul, the calmer of the two, sank into a chair and watched his friend compassionately. He did not know if Perry knew it yet, but Paul had realized that afternoon that his friend was completely besotted with his secretary.

After a long while, he finally mustered up the courage to interrupt the lawyer's thoughts.

"Come now, Perry, sit down."

The defense attorney only shook his head, and continued pacing.

"She probably just fainted, Perry," Paul continued soothingly. "Women faint all the time."

"Della doesn't," was the short retort.

"That doesn't mean she can't. The courtroom was a bit warm today, and maybe she just didn't drink enough water."

"It doesn't take an hour and a half to wake someone up from a common swoon," Perry answered, slamming his fist into his left palm again, and pacing to the window. "Something is horribly wrong."

"She's likely already awake, and answering a thousand questions for the nurses and Dr. Hawley," Paul persisted, ignoring the pit in his own stomach.

"Bill knows that we are out here, and he is not one to diddle-dally in giving reports to friends and family."

The private detective gave up. Perry was, unfortunately, probably right – but even if he wasn't, there was no getting through to him.

….

Perry went out twice to ask the charge nurse for more information, only to be told that she did not have any, and to be gently redirected back to the waiting room. In total, it took another forty minutes before its doors swung open, and Dr. William Hawley walked through them. He looked exhausted, as if he had just withdrawn from a battlefield. Both men in the waiting room almost pounced on him.

"Bill?" Perry choked out. "How is she?"

The doctor paused for a moment.

"She's alive," he said.

Instead of comforting him, the succinct answer caused Perry's anxiety to skyrocket. 'She's alive' was the barest minimum of good news. He had been hoping for a 'she's going to be alright' or a 'she's fine'.

"Is she conscious?" Paul asked.

"Not fully. She became somewhat more responsive to sound and touch as we worked on her, and she murmured a word or two, but she never became properly conscious to where I could have a full conversation with her."

"What is wrong with her?" was the next question of Perry's cross-examination.

The doctor hesitated again.

"I don't entirely know," he said honestly. Feeling Perry's stare upon him, Bill Hawley looked directly at his friend. "Ms. Street's heart rate is very, very slow, which is the reason that she fainted. A young woman's heart rate, unless she is extremely athletic, should be above sixty beats per minute. Ms. Street's is currently almost half of that: thirty-one, thirty-two beats per minute at the most, and even after examining her thoroughly, I don't understand why. Thinking that the wisest course of action would be to bring it up with medication, I injected her with a stimulant. Instead of increasing her pulse, however, it threw her heart into a dangerous arrhythmia. I've never seen anything like it. I might as well be frank with you, and tell you plainly that, for half-an-hour, I truly believed that we might lose her." Perry drew in his breath sharply. "Thankfully, it resolved on its own, and she is a bit more stable now. I am transferring her to the intensive care unit for further monitoring, and we will have to run a plethora of more tests in the morning, but I want her to rest for now."

"Can we see her?"

In every other such situation, William Hawley's answer to this question would have been a resounding 'no'. His patient was critically ill, her heart was very weak, and a commotion at her bedside was the last thing she needed. But the desperate look in Perry's eyes melted his resolve. He knew that Perry Mason and Paul Drake could be trusted to keep proper decorum at a sickbed. Furthermore, the physician remembered that the 'word or two' that his patient had murmured during her brief bouts of semi-consciousness had been the name 'Perry'.

"I think it may do her some good to have familiar people around her," the doctor said slowly. "But you must be very quiet and calm, and do your best to not disturb her. Ms. Street is very fragile at the moment. She has been through a great deal tonight."

Paul Drake and Perry Mason nodded their understanding. Dr. Hawley walked them to the elevator, and took them to the third floor.

They walked into the dim ICU room. An IV pole was situated close to Della's bed, and bags of fluids were being infused into her left arm. Her lovely brown curls lay scattered on the pillow.

Mindful of the physician's warning, the two gentlemen practically tiptoed towards the bed, Perry in front. Pausing a foot from the bed, he leaned forward, drinking in the sight of Della's slow, methodical breathing and pale face, trying to convince himself, against all reason, that all would be well. He was unaware that Dr. Hawley and Paul Drake were observing him with pity.

He had absolutely no intention of speaking to or trying to wake her. But she must have felt him, or smelled his cologne, for Della's eyelashes suddenly fluttered open. Her hazel eyes focused on Perry with difficulty. A light of recognition was briefly seen in them.

She was too weak and confused to disassemble the feelings that she had studiously kept hidden from her employer and everyone else for almost three years. Thus, the faintest of smiles appeared upon her face, and after a second, her lips moved and mouthed the word 'Perry', although no sound came from them. Her right hand slightly moved across the sheets, towards him, as if she were reaching for him. However, this last action proved to be too much for her nearly non-existent strength, and closing her eyes, she fell back into her stupor.

That settled it. Perry pulled up a chair to the bedside, resolutely took the hand which had been reaching for him, and gave the physician a defiant look, daring him to even try saying anything. Dr. Hawley put up his hands in mock surrender, gave a little silent laugh and left the room, secretly pleased by the turn of events – his patient would sorely need something to live and fight for in the coming days, and if Perry was a source of inspiration to her in that regard, so be it.

The lawyer next looked at Paul Drake, and whispered in so low a tone that the detective hardly heard it,

"Call Gertie, and tell her to close the office and clear my schedule indefinitely."

Please review!