"Relapse"
Written by
Rather
Author's Note: [This] is a tag/missing scene for the episode "Virus."
I felt there should be more to this epi, I always hated it when the hero bounced out of bed the day after the big crash, ya know? Plus, this is based on personal experience with a virus that just about did me in. I was totally incapacitated for weeks. So I put a tich of that in.
His eyes drifted open, and slowly traced the items on the small table pushed up next to the bed. The familiar tableau constituted most of his whole world right now. A handful of flowers picked by Jenny and placed in a cup of water, bottles of medicine, a half glass of juice, a manual Roy had been reading to him, and a bag of lemon drops. He eyed the drops and thought about reaching over and getting one, but the idea dissipated like a wisp of smoke even before he decided not to act on it. Then he felt his heart lift and a corner of his mouth tug upwards as he heard Roy’s happy voice echo through the house, greeting his family, and realized that was what had roused him.
In moments, a familiar weight settled onto the bed, and a hand reached out to brush back the shaggy black hair, pat his shoulder.
A couple of days ago, Johnny had realized that something deep down had sort of shifted, solidified, in their relationship. At some point during this... unfortunate ordeal, Roy had quit asking him how he was. He never did anymore. Of all the people and good wishes coming through the room, Roy was the only one who never needed to ask. He would sit down beside him, like he was now, and…look at him. He knew when he’d had a tough time of it, when he was in the mood for a funny anecdote from work, even when all he really wanted was someone there, not talking, just... there. All from a look.
Today was bath day. It was a big deal, that trip out of bed and into the tub. He heard Joanne running it. He struggled to speak, to force out words. Today it was much easier and they were both pleased. “She’s... not... put... in... bubb... les... is... she....” It was a question, but his voice was too faint to put any inflection into it.
Roy chuckled. “I wouldn’t be a bit surprised.” Johnny groaned softly, but it was fake and they both knew it. Roy whisked back the covers and slipped an arm around Johnny’s shoulders. The first time they’d done this he’d had to carry his friend, but now at least things had improved to the point where Johnny could walk, with assistance. Okay, Johnny ordered himself, move. He moved his legs a bit, and a bit more, and kept at it until they dangled over the side of the bed. As he shifted to push himself upright his arms started to shake, but Roy supported him so he couldn’t fall back. He exchanged a quick look with his partner and nodded.
He shifted his weight onto his legs and rolled himself off the bed. He remained bent over a little, giving himself a chance to adjust. He reminded himself to take slow, even breaths. Was it easier than yesterday when Drs. Brackett and Morton had come by and helped him walk to the chair by the window? Yes, he told himself firmly. He always told himself that; even when he couldn’t tell for sure. He straightened slowly. When he was completely upright, he squeezed his eyes shut and waited for the dizziness to ease. When Roy felt the tension in the shoulders let up, he gave his friend a quick squeeze. “Good job, pal.” Johnny opened his eyes.
“Yeah. Rea... dy... to... par... ty.” They made their way slowly down the hall, stopping to rest a couple of times. Roy kept up a lively chatter all the way about Chet’s latest antics, keeping them both distracted. When they got inside the bathroom, Roy closed the door and quickly stripped off Johnny’s shorts and t-shirt. Then he put his arms around John’s shoulders and back and eased him slowly down onto the toilet.
“Back in a minute,” he said, leaving to give him some privacy. Johnny reflected, not for the first time, how completely unimportant modesty becomes to the seriously ill. It was truly a small price to pay for the help he needed so badly both in the hospital and here. He heard a tap on the door and an arm reached inside, holding his toothbrush. He took it. At first he’d been too weak to raise his arm to brush them, so this was an improvement. There was no toothpaste on it; though they had tried several brands, each made him feel sick and burned his mouth. He flushed and pivoted, grasping the side of the sink. He made it all the way up to his feet, and was grinning triumphantly when Roy came in. “Holy cow! Good for you, Junior!” Roy positively beamed. “Wait till I tell Joanne!” He continued, teasing. “Let me go get her right now....” He laughed at the look on John’s face. He took the toothbrush out of Johnny’s hand and pushed a cup of water at him. “Try to drink a little after you rinse, okay?” He wasn’t thirsty but to please his friend, he drained it all.
They eased him to a sitting position on the tub, then swiveled him a bit. Johnny put his arm around Roy’s shoulders and leaned some of his weight on him. Roy squatted and lifted Johnny’s legs up and over the side of the tub, into the water. Johnny reached out and grabbed the bar they’d placed there for him and together they got the rest of him into the water. There were no bubbles, thank the gods. Johnny leaned on the side of the tub, breathing hard. He was exhausted, trembling all over.
The warm water felt fantastic; he wished he could stay in it forever. He felt muscles relaxing all over his body. It was one of the reasons Roy stayed close; last time he’d fallen asleep three times. He scarcely moved when Roy soaped his hair and rinsed it. He shifted a little when Roy pushed at him so he could wash him. They didn’t worry about areas the water covered; figuring the increasingly soapy water would do the trick for them. The water remained heavenly, bath time was something he looked forward to - it was the high point of every other day.
Eventually, he was so relaxed, he knew he would have to get out now or he wouldn’t be able to at all. Practice had taught them how to do this, too. Roy reached over and released the drain. When the water was gone, Roy applied the towels, while he was still in the tub. He rubbed his hair briskly, then finger combed it. He would comb it better for him later. Gage hadn’t need a shave this time. Then he dried off the rest of his friend, chatting about something Dixie was going to bring him when she stopped by later. Eventually, they were ready for the hardest part - getting out. As Roy continued to kneel by the tub, he put one arm around Johnny’s shoulders and one under his knees. Then DeSoto hoisted him out; just enough to get the long legs over the edge again and set him down on the side of the tub, helping him with some fresh clothes. Johnny grabbed the towel rack with one hand and put his other arm around Roy. Roy did most of the work this time helping Johnny to his feet. Johnny trembled, panting. He felt like he’d been fighting a fire for three hours. Then they started the slow procession back to the bedroom. There wasn’t any chatter this time, because they both needed to pay attention to what they were doing. Halfway there, Johnny’s knees gave out. Roy wasn’t surprised, and swung his friend into his arms for the rest of the trip. They had mastered the balance of letting Johnny do what he could, with Roy ready to help with what he couldn’t.
He settled John into bed, on the fresh sheets pulled down just so. Johnny rolled onto his left side and pulled his knees up. He was breathing hard, too exhausted to even close his eyes. Roy slipped a pillow between his knees and pulled the top sheet up to his waist. He settled into the chair by the window and watched his friend.
Johnny’s hand was resting on the pillow and his thumbnail was in his line of vision. He stared at it as his breathing slowed and his eyelids drooped... drowsily remembering the events leading them to here, as he did every day....
**********************************
“Hey!” Johnny startled from his doze as a magazine whiffled through the air and landed on his stomach with a noisy whump.
Kelly Brackett laughed from the bed next to his. “You gonna snooze all evening? Dinner’s here. I thought we better eat... whatever it is while it’s still kinda hot.”
Johnny rolled his eyes. The quality of the food here had been one of their favorite shared topics of complaint. They had been bored stiff today; too weak to be out of bed very much, too well to want to sleep all the time, and even worse, yesterday’s steady flow of visitors had slowed to a trickle due to a unusually busy weekend.
Brackett continued to grumble. “I don’t know why Joe won’t let me just go home. I’ll get better faster there. Why don’t doctors ever listen to their patients?”
Gage snorted. “I hope you remember that the next time I have to stay at this resort.” He lifted the lid from his plate and when the scent reached him he was surprised by a sudden, intense wave of nausea. He quickly clenched both eyes and jaw, willing the sensation to pass. His ribcage was still a little sore from the violent vomiting he’d been wracked with before he’d lapsed into the coma. He sure didn’t want to start that again.
The clatter as John dropped the lid attracted Kel’s attention. “Jeez, John. I know it’s not at all appetizing, but is it that bad?” His tone was light, teasing, but deep within him, the concerned doctor stirred to life as a quiet alarm began to chime.
Gage responded with a tight lipped smile. “Guess the stomach isn’t quite ready for this.” He pushed the tray table away. “Kinda tired,” he said, lying down with his back to Brackett. “Think I’ll take a nap instead.”
Brackett picked at his own dinner, watching Gage sleep with mounting concern.
*****************************************
Brackett sighed and rolled over to look at the clock. He was having a terrible time getting any sleep worth a damn in this place. Every time a doctor was paged, he woke, a carryover from his earliest days of hospital work. He thought for what seemed like the hundredth time somebody had to figure out a way to keep the intercom system out of patient’s rooms at night. He shifted the other way to check on John, and smiled. The young paramedic was sleeping soundly, on his back as usual, the familiar arm flung over his eyes, covers hopelessly tangled. Thank goodness he doesn’t snore, Brackett thought, not for the first time. He watched John sleep for a while, the chest rising and falling, letting it lull him back to sleepiness. Gage mumbled something Kel couldn’t understand and tossed a little. I oughta take a picture of ‘Romeo’ there and sell it to the nurses.
He slipped away a bit, wondering idly about John, the true man without a past. He had many friends, dated busily enough, but never got very close to anyone except Roy. Kel wondered if Roy was the first best friend John had ever really had. There were so few clues, and John seldom discussed his childhood or family, and even then, only gave the briefest of glimpses. If anyone knew anything, it was Roy, but he guarded his friend’s secrets as fiercely as did John. But... there were a few signs for those who cared to look, in the most innocuous of things. Like the way he slept with an arm over his eyes. Brackett was willing to bet this was a habit started in childhood. Probably slept pretty often in a common area, like a living room. Brackett wondered if John had his own bed, much less a bedroom, when he was a boy. Depressed now, he tried to think about something else, not about what it must have been like on the reservation. Pictures he had seen from time-to-time had disturbed him deeply, and that was before he even met Johnny, personalizing those images for him. Finally, he fell asleep.
“Doc - Doctor Brack - " Kel didn’t let himself react, determined this time to ignore that damned page. “Doc - ” Reality hit him, and he snapped to awareness as he pushed himself upright.
He focused his eyes on the nearby bed even as he was rising to his feet, assessing as he went. Breathing too fast, pulse racing, diaphoretic, he thought, then replaced the thought. No, sweating like a pig. Jesus Christ I’ll bet he’s 102-103 already. How in the hell did this happen so fast? He started to reach for the call button as he laid a soothing hand on the feverish man’s face. Miserable, apologetic eyes caught his. “Doc - I don’t - feel - ”
Brackett caught the message behind the words and fumbled as he quickly reached over John for an emesis basin. He held his friend’s shoulders until the spasms passed, then hit the call button over the bed, waiting impatiently for the nurse to answer. “This is Brackett. I need help,” he growled. “Find Dr. Morton and get in here. Gage is relapsing.” Damn it, he added silently.
John moaned and started heaving again.
*********************************************
Roy glanced up when Brackett, back in full doctor mode and dress, came into the room. “You shouldn’t be spending this much time in here,” Brackett admonished, very gently.
DeSoto didn’t even respond as he turned back to his task of wiping a cloth over John’s trembling, exhausted face and body. There was no comforting quiet of coma this time. The virus ravaged John’s body as he and his friends helplessly witnessed it. They had managed to keep the monster from winning, barely. Fever alternated with chills, delirium with briefer and briefer periods of lucidity. Johnny got weaker with each fresh bout. And more frightened. Roy felt like his presence was the only thing keeping his partner from falling apart. And as time dragged and his friend worsened, he thought his vigil also just might be the only thing keeping himself from the same.
“’S’right,” came a harsh rasp from the bed. Bleak, blue eyes met desperate, dark ones. John’s voice was hoarse, as the fluids generated in his stomach had begun to tear away at the tissue in his throat when he vomited. They were giving him as much medication as they could, which had thankfully reduced the frequency, but didn’t dare sedate him entirely, so the slightest introduction of nearly any sensation seemed to triggered his gag reflex, including motion, light, even noise, and of course nearly every scent and taste. He hadn’t been given anything orally, even water, in over a day.
“Quit talking, ya dummy,” Roy soothed.
Gage moaned. “Mean it. Get... get out of here. Run. Doc - make him go.”
He moaned again and tossed restlessly. “Flash - flashover. Run, Roy. Get out, Roy.”
“Damn it,” muttered DeSoto, reaching for the small pail they had replaced the emesis basin with. “Don’t fight it, Junior. Get it over with.”
“No,” he moaned as his face twisted. “Hurts. No - “ Brackett and DeSoto’s hearts sank as they saw ugly spots of dark dull blood spatter as John vomited into the pail.
******************************************
“Come on,” whispered Roy, directly into Johnny’s ear. “Come on. Take a breath.” He was answered by a gasp. “Good. Again.” Another gasp. Sweat rolled into the glazed eyes. John didn’t even blink as the sweat joined the tears slowly trickling from his eyes. “Keep holding my hand. Do you feel it?” A hitched breath, a tiny nod, a barely felt squeeze to the hand Roy had stripped the glove off of an hour ago when this worst crisis had begun. Roy had known the moment he had begun to slip away, before the monitors had started to prove it.
John whispered something, eyes roaming around the room. Roy didn’t understand what it was, just that it didn’t sound like English. He shivered, hoping John wasn’t talking to the spirits of his ancestors. On impulse, he squeezed John’s hand. “Don’t look at them, John. Look at me. Only me. It’s not your time.” The eyes slowly moved to his.
The cracked lips moved. “T’red.”
“I know. I know you’re tired, pal. Please. Hang on a little more. I know you’re about to turn the corner here. I know it. I promise.”
The dark eyes pleaded with him to continue. And so he did. For hours the usually very quiet man spoke, of the reasons John had to keep hanging on, the beautiful woman he would meet and marry one day, the children he was going to have that Roy was going to spoil as completely as John had his own, the camping trips, on and on and on. And the dark eyes seldom blinked or looked away from his again, though he didn’t speak another word. He couldn’t. All his strength, all his effort, was just going into continuing to breathe. Sometimes the eyes rolled away, started to close, glazed over. Roy always shook him a little, brought him back. He spoke of their past and their future, the rescues, the training, their co-workers. He became afraid that if he quit, John would slip away from him, so he just kept talking. Eventually he started with his own life, his memories from childhood, his courtship with Joanne, how he felt about being a father and his hopes for his children.
Hospital staff came and went. Roy didn’t dare let himself be distracted when they slipped on the oxygen mask, drew tubes of blood, adjusted and added more IV bags and vials of medicine, took vital signs, or just paused to observe the remarkable battle for John’s life. Once someone, Roy didn’t know or care who, tried to take him by the arm, draw him away. He jerked his arm away without even pausing in his monologue about his very first bicycle. The pair ignored them all, focused only on each other. And then finally, sometime just after dawn, as the light began to creep back into the room, Roy saw the light and life start to come back into John’s eyes as well. He felt his own soul lift in response. He knew the fever was broken, for good this time, even before John’s temperature began to decrease, the struggle for each breath to ease, the sweat begin to dry. Both men slipped into a deep, healing sleep.
Mike Morton leaned against the wall just outside Gage’s room. He took off his glasses to polish them, and managed a little swipe at his eyes in the bargain. Allergies, of course. Dixie McCall came out of the room, smiling broadly. She patted him on the shoulder. He shook his head. “I hope to live to a hundred. But that’s the damnedest thing I will ever see, Dix.”
“Didn’t cover this kind of thing in medical school, did they?”
His response was forgotten forever as Kelly Brackett burst around the corner at about one quarter speed for him, but still pretty quick for most people. He took in their faces with a glance. “Is it true?! The whole hospital’s saying....”
The pair nodded. Brackett shook his head. “I just don’t believe it. I gotta see for myself.”
Dixie and Mike smiled. “You still won’t believe it,” Morton chuckled.
Brackett shook his head again. “He was... there was no chance last night. No chance.” He stepped around them and into the room to see the miracle in ICU Room 2.
Brackett then turned his attention to DeSoto. He gently grasped his shoulder and pulled Roy’s hand out of Johnny’s. Roy woke with a start, hand reaching for Johnny’s again, searching in alarm for something wrong. “Okay,” said Dr. Brackett, keeping his voice low, “everything’s okay.” Roy relaxed, as soon as he saw for himself that it was true. Brackett continued, “This isn’t exactly the Ritz, but you had a long night, John’s not gonna do anything but sleep, so why don’t you go lie down in that bed over there?”
DeSoto shook his head. “I’m fine.” Clearly he was not - he was as haggard as Brackett had ever seen him, looking as though any moment he would slide out of the chair into a boneless heap on the floor. Kel frowned. Dixie came into the room. Brackett had a sudden idea, a great one, he thought, considering his reputation for bedside manner.
“Dixie, what’s the status of our fire brigade?”
“Worse than ever. Another shift just got off and I think every one of them came here. I’m thinking about calling the Red Cross out to bring some sandwiches and coffee.” It was no exaggeration. There were firemen milling around everywhere you turned, deeply concerned for their friend and comrade.
“You think you could go find one of them to volunteer for bedside duty for a while?”
Her teeth flashed in a beautiful smile. “Just one? I could probably get twenty.”
He harrumphed. “Tell ‘em we think he’s out of danger, for real we hope this time, that they can either go home and stop clogging up our waiting room, donate some blood, or see the volunteer coordinator to find something useful to do.”
She smiled again. “I think I can be a little more tactful than that, Kel.” She paused, and the smile took on a positively wicked glint. “I went to a seminar, you know.”
Brackett turned his attention back to the intractable DeSoto. “When she gets here with Chet, and don’t ask me how I know it’ll be him, I just do, will you please go lie down? You look like the back seat floor mat in a ten year old station wagon, Roy.”
Roy summoned a faint smile from somewhere, “Ah, you’ve seen Joanne’s car, huh, Doc?” then hooked a thumb towards John. “Isn’t he a sight for sore eyes, though?”
Brackett smiled, too. “He sure is.”
**********************************************
The quick intake of breath from across the room was not loud at all, but nonetheless was as effective as a fire alarm to the slumbering Roy. He snapped awake, flinging back the covers and sitting up in one fluid motion. Roy’s initial alarm was eased; all that was going on was a bedbath and sheet change. There was no doubt John would rest a lot better cleansed of the evidence of last night’s struggle.
Another glance, though, raised his concern again. John didn’t look very happy, not at all in fact, rolled over onto his side as he was to clean his back and change the far side of the bed. One arm hung limply through the rails, the other was awkwardly pinned under himself. His eyes weren’t just closed; they were squeezed shut in discomfort.
DeSoto rose and swiftly closed the distance. Chet was gone; evidently run out by the nurse. He squatted down beside the bed. “Hey,” he said gently.
When the dark eyes cracked opened, emotion swirled through them, almost too quickly for DeSoto to read. Almost. Happiness to see him, overwhelming exhaustion, embarrassment at being pushed around like a rag doll by the nurse. “Let’s get you a little more comfortable, here,” he said. “You want to toss me that gown?” he directed towards the nurse. He glanced down again, this time seeing relief as he slipped the garment onto and around his partner, pulled up the covers, and propped him up on the fresh pillowcases.
He sat where John could see him without having to move. “I’ll bet your mouth’s pretty dry. I see they brought you some ice chips. You had any yet?”
The nurse stuck a loaded toothbrush into John’s hand. “Looks like you’ve got everything under control,” she said, sounding a bit miffed, “I’ll just move on to the next patient.”
“Oops,” Roy muttered with a sheepish smile, “guess we’re in trouble now.”
He reached for the toothbrush, wondering what the nurse thought John was going to do with it, being as he couldn’t even close his fingers to grip it, much less lift his arm…he started to mutter as much as he matter-of-factly guided John’s mouth open, eased the brush inside and started briskly working it around. He cut himself off when he saw John’s eyes fly open in alarm and his throat spasm. God, no, no, NO! was all he had time to think as John started to gag. He yanked the brush out and turned John onto his side. All that came out of his mouth, though, was toothpaste and a little spit, but they were both momentarily frozen from fear. Then John started to shake with terror and hopelessness as he finally lost control and broke down in tears. Roy reacted instinctively and reached out, gathering him into his arms, trying to calm him down. “It’s not the virus. You’re okay, Johnny. It’s okay. You’re not getting sick again.” He wasn’t sure who he was trying harder to reassure, himself or his partner.
John voice was hoarse, choked, skittering on the thin knife’s edge of panic. “Don’t... want d-die.”
“I know. You won’t. I promise. It’s okay, Johnny. It’s okay.” He kept whispering the same phrases, holding his friend as tightly as he could, trying to lend him some of his own strength, feeling his heart race, knowing John’s was, too. He heard the door open, a sharp intake of breath. He turned his head. “Chet. Get Dr. Morton. Hurry.”
Morton and two nurses came in at a run, all pretense of professional demeanor gone. “What happened, Roy?”
“He’s okay, Doc. Just really upset. The toothpaste made him gag and he - we thought...,” he couldn’t continue, but Morton understood. He snapped out an order for a sedative and something to settle John’s stomach, as a precaution.
Roy gently released John and laid him back down on the bed when he finally began to relax, and Morton examined him swiftly. Roy heard him muttering to himself steadily, with liberal doses of very strong swearing. “Toothpaste... I swear if he starts up again I’ll... man’s been throwing up for... gave him toothpaste... cleaning bedpans for the next....”
Then he sat on the bed and spoke clearly, making sure the information was sinking into his patient. “John, you have no fever, no other symptoms. This isn’t a relapse. Sometimes when people have been hyperemic it can be really difficult for them to stop. And the wrong thing can make them start up again. That’s what happened here - we shouldn’t have started you out with toothpaste and I’m really sorry it happened.” He looked at Roy. “I gave him something to make him sleep for awhile. We’ve got to be extremely careful, go very slowly till his stomach is working right again. We’ll try some ice chips when he wakes up - that’s it for today. Maybe some clear liquids tomorrow. No soda - nothing that could make him burp. No straws. Okay?”
Roy nodded vigorously. Of course it was okay if John got better. If Morton said feed him a half a green pea every hour in a frilly apron on horseback that’s what they’d do. Well... okay... maybe not a frilly apron....
*****************************************
It took John and Roy two days to persuade Dr. Morton (with, Gage suspected, a little input from Dr. Brackett) to let Gage finish recuperating at the DeSoto home. Morton told himself it was only logical; beds were short. Besides, Roy was spending every free minute he could at the hospital when he could be home instead, and admittedly, Gage’s recovery, which had every appearance of taking some real time, would probably go just as quickly elsewhere. He didn’t have any open wounds to watch, his internal organs were functioning fine, clearly, this was the correct decision. So why did he feel like such a mushy pushover for letting them do this?
*****************************************
The chair Roy was sitting in creaked as Jennifer crawled into her father’s lap. They watched John sleep. Roy buried his nose in his daughter’s hair, loving the sensation, as usual. “Did you help take care of Uncle Johnny yesterday, pumpkin?”
“Yep. We played dolls again, but I’m not supposed to tell. He said it’s not very... uh, mucho.”
Roy chuckled softly. “I think you mean macho, sweetie. And I won’t tell.”
“I helped Mommy fix him lunch. It was soup. He liked it, I could tell. Even though it had vege-bles in it,” she added, with a wrinkled nose. “Then I read him some from that book,” she said, gesturing vaguely towards the manual on the table, “only I changed it a little and it was a princess in a castle with a pony and a dragon and Uncle John said my story was good as yours. Then I was sleepy and I had a nap Uncle John said that was okay he had one, too. He said I was a good pillow and Mommy laughed. Then I picked him some flowers ‘cause Mommy said he can’t go outside to see them just yet.”
“Well, my goodness. You did have a busy day, didn’t you? And it sounds like you did a wonderful job. I’m very proud of you.”
She twisted around in his lap, wrapping two sturdy arms around his neck, planting a kiss on his cheek. He hugged her right back. “How about we all go to the park today when Chris is done with school? Miss McCall’s coming by to see Uncle Johnny so maybe we can go then, what do you think?”
Her eyes lit up. “Can we have a picnic?”
He smiled. “Of course we can. And we’ll find something special to bring Uncle Johnny, how ‘bout that?”
She nodded, then she sobered suddenly. “Next time you think can Uncle Johnny go with us?”
Roy looked over at his sleeping friend. “I bet he will, sweetheart. I just bet he will.”
