RideForever Janice Sager – A Pox on It!
***
Sleep was a precious and elusive commodity; a longed for escape; a thick, warm blanket to be drawn upward to block out reality... Ben had long ago trained himself to be able to fall asleep whenever he wanted. It was a necessary skill in the far north when tracking a criminal across the trackless wilderness, and one that had often given him a decided advantage when confronting a desperate fugitive. It was a talent he'd carefully cultivated and mastered over time, but which was seemingly beyond his ability at the moment. His thoughts kept wondering in a disjointed fog, refusing to answer to hard won discipline.
It would be much easier, he thought, if he weren't sedated.
He remembered the last time he'd been sick. Pink eye. Both eyes. He was ten. He remembered his grandmother consulting an Inuit angatkuq, or shaman, and preparing a poultice to put on his eyes. It had smelled terrible, but the warmth had felt wonderful, soothing the overwhelming itch...
...Which made him remember the itch of his chicken pox and Francesca smearing cool calamine lotion over his fever-heated flesh. The memory caused a blush to heat his cheeks and he quickly banished the notion that he'd enjoyed it a bit more than he should have. Her touch as she'd bathed him for fever and applied the lotion was always carefully correct. Well, almost always. Those moments when it wasn't never lasted long enough for him to be certain of anything. He'd simply felt too sick to even contemplate such slips on her part, or what response he might wish to give...
Response? She was Ray's sister, he reminded himself firmly! He knew perfectly well what Ray thought of a liaison between them, not that he really thought she his type. If he even had a type. He'd thought at one time he had... But Victoria had proven just how disastrous his judgment was where women were concerned.
Tarnation! He didn't want to think about Victoria! He'd done too much thinking about her the last time he was in hospital. Thank God, Ray had shot him. Madness. Deadly madness... Like a fever in his blood. How could he possibly compare Francesca with Victoria? Okay, so they both had dark hair but...
(((shhhhhhwpt!))) He suddenly found himself being forced to breathe. It was an incredibly disconcerting feeling which sent a shock of momentary fear through his system and shattered all his attempts to find sleep. He knew what it was: an Intermittent Mandatory Breath. The doctor had explained it all to him when he was first getting used to the ventilator and they were adjusting it. It still came as an unpleasant shock.
He had to consciously choose not to fight it. If he did, the pressure limit could be exceeded and an alarm would sound. It was set so that his lungs were under constant positive pressure, something called PEEP, and it was quite uncomfortable. The doctor had explained that this helped keep his alveoli open when he was exhaling. It also somehow helped reduce the actual amount of oxygen they had to give him. The man had gone on to talk about oxygen toxicity, lung compliancy, vital capacity, arterial blood gas tension and other things that Ben had been completely unable to follow.
The machine finished delivering the mandatory breath and Ben tried to relax again, breathing normally, or as normally as the machine would allow him too. Generally, his own autonomic needs initiated each breath, then the machine took over and delivered a set volume of air. Also quite disconcerting. It had taken him several minutes to get use to it. It 'assisted' his breathing, so long as he breathed a requisite number of times per minute. If he didn't, the machine automatically initiated a mandatory breath. His breathing must have fallen below the preset requirement. The presence of the endotracheal tube and having the machine control each inhalation was bad enough, having the machine take over complete control, even for just one breath, was definitely worse.
He resisted the urge to sigh, knowing the machine would simply initiate another breath, thus negating any value a sigh might hold. He was so tired... but was now afraid of dreaming about Victoria which was the last thing he wanted to do, so instead he opened his eyes and glanced around, hoping to distract himself.
His father stood frowning at him. The head of the bed was lifted to about a sixty degree angle and the bed itself was elevated as well so the two of them were basically on the same eye level.
"Chicken pox..." Bob Fraser shook his head in simple disbelief. "Who'd have thought a simple childhood disease could land you in the hospital hooked up to one of these here... breathing contraptions. Ventilator is it? Or respirator? I think I've heard both. I wonder what the difference is..."
Ben closed his eyes and wished the man away. This was not the kind of distraction he'd been hoping for!
"So you're going to be choosy, are you?" Bob answered the unspoken sentiment. "That's rather ungrateful I'd say. And selfish. Just because I'm dead doesn't mean I can't be worried about you, you know. The doctors keep saying you're very sick, that you might even die. They've been careful not to say it around you, of course, but... talk about disconcerting! I'd hate for you to be alone if that were to happen. Oh, and don't ask me if you're going to live or not: 'they' don't tell us these sorts of things." He glanced upward to indicate which 'they' he meant. "I just thought, as your father and everything you know, that it was my duty so to speak, to... keep an eye on you. But, if you don't want me hanging around..."
Ben rolled his eyes. His father was laying the guilt-trip routine on rather heavily; but, despite the blatant nature of his manipulations, they were also effective.
"W'up!" Bob suddenly glanced toward the door. "Someone else arriving to distract you, I see. Try not to be too happy, Son. It's rather insulting, you know."
Ben turned his eyes toward the door, careful not to move his head any farther than necessary. The tube was well secured but, despite the sedation and other medications he'd been given, he felt every tug and shift as if it had been glued into his throat. Each inhalation caused the ribbed plastic to expand and contract. He was learning to ignore that... He frowned slightly as he watched a nurse and... someone else beyond the large glass windows that made up the wall of his isolation room opposite the nurse's station. They were both in surgical scrubs. His attending nurse had glanced up as well and was watching them. It wasn't until the one moved to open the door that he recognized Inspector Thatcher.
"Oh, its that Inspector woman of yours," Bob recognized her a moment after Ben did. "And you in no shape to give her a leg over at the moment. Pity. You really should have taken her on after your encounter atop that train, Son. And don't go telling me nothing happened like when I asked you about your hat. I can read you like a book. You wanted her. Admit it!"
Whether he had or not, was none of his father's business. She was his superior officer. His father should know better than to suggest... Were grandchildren the only thing the man could think about?
"Well, it's not like you ever worry about them!" Bob rejoined peevishly.
"Ben?" Meg's soft voice, daring to address him by his given name, jerked his attention from his father. He blinked heavy-lidded eyes and glanced to his left to see her offering a gentle, if somewhat worried, smile as she reached down to squeeze his hand, her eyes noting and then ignoring the wrist restraints. They weren't particularly tight. He had about a foot of movement in each arm. They were designed more as tethers to keep him from being able to reach up to pull the ET tube out, than as true restraints. He still hated them. "Hi," she added.
Unable to speak, he answered the gentle squeeze with one of his own.
"Ray said to say 'hi', too. Unfortunately, Lt. Welsh couldn't afford to give him anymore time off without taking flak from his own superiors so... he had to go to work."
Ben nodded slightly. Ray had taken a lot of time off because of him during this last year. Too much...
"You're actually looking better than the last time I saw you at the Vecchios' house," she offered. "I see they're using something besides calamine lotion for your rash. Pink just isn't your color," she joked quietly.
"That's just because you've never seen him holding a baby girl in his arms," Bob told her.
Ben glanced his way, silently ordering him to, 'stop it!'
"She can't hear me!" Bob protested, not about to curtail his comments.
"I won't ask how you're feeling," Meg continued, her words overlapping his father's, "but I do hope you're doing better than when they brought you in here. You've got a number of people worried about you, Constable."
He really hated upsetting everyone... He released her hand and made a gesture as if he were writing, then glanced to the lap table where a stylus and pressure pad rested.
She followed his gaze and shook her head. "No, unless it's important? I don't want to tax your strength or anything..."
"Relax, Son, and enjoy it. Having a pretty woman worry about you is one of the more pleasant things in life!"
Ben glared at his father.
"I really should go and just let you sleep, but..." Ben's attention was jerked back to Meg. He didn't want her to go. "...well, I wanted to check on you myself. You are my Deputy Liaison Officer, after all, and... and a valuable member of my staff." Her eyes noted the nurse doing paperwork like a silent shadow in the background of the room. She cleared her throat, reverting to a more professional facade, but it didn't quite want to fit anymore. "Turnbull is handling things adequately in your absence, but, well, 'adequately' is about all I can say for it. The entire staff will be much happier once you've recovered and are back to your normal overly-polite, interfering self again."
He would have smiled at that were he capable of doing so.
"She still wants you, Son," Bob decided with a nod, and then had to suddenly step aside as the nurse attempted to walk through him, reaching up to one of Ben's monitors to check something with a slight frown. "Oh heavens, but it feels odd when someone does that!" he exclaimed. Then, as quickly as he'd come, he was gone again.
"Something wrong?" Meg asked, noting the woman's slight frown.
"No," the nurse answered simply and moved away to note something in Ben's chart.
Ben didn't hear the soft exchange. His mind was starting to wonder again as sleep beckoned more strongly. Instead, he was struck by the soft sweep of Meg's hair and the way it curved to gently accentuate her jaw line... He remembered the last time he'd really looked at her hair, remembered the feel of her in his arms as they were handcuffed together aboard a train speeding toward nuclear catastrophe, remembered the unique scent that was hers alone and tried to sniff, knowing he should be able to sense it... But of course he couldn't. He merely triggered the ventilator. He winced slightly as pain flared along his right side.
Meg watched the nurse for a long moment and then shook herself, glancing around again at the many machines that surrounded Ben. "They certainly have you hooked up, don't they?" she commented. "At least it's quieter than they portray on television." She offered another smile, this one a bit more genuine than the previous one. "Why don't you close your eyes, Ben, and try to get some rest?" she suggested. "I'm well aware you're going to be just fine, but do you mind if I sit with you a little bit? Frankly, I'm running out of things to say but don't feel like returning to the Consulate to face Turnbull quite yet."
Ben answered with a slight nod and closed his eyes, ignoring another minor stab of discomfort in his side as the machine delivered another breath. He suspected there was more behind her need to sit with him than she was comfortable admitting. Just as her presence at his bedside was more comforting than he could ever tell her.
***
Frannie caught herself biting her lower lip nervously and ordered herself to stop. Her lipstick wouldn't appreciate it, and neither would her teeth. Unobtrusively, or as unobtrusively as possible, she ran her tongue over her teeth to hopefully remove any tell-tale signs of red. Not that there was anyone to see it, except the nurse who was in the process of explaining the visiting rules. Frannie looked through the window into Ben's isolation room to confirm that he was still asleep.
Thatcher had spent about an hour with him before she felt compelled to return to her duties at the Consulate. Some big wig was coming into town and she had to be there to greet him. That hour had both dragged and raced by for Frannie. She'd been torn between being jealous, which really didn't make a lot of sense given the situation Ben was in, and being happy that she didn't have to go first. She'd been relieved when Thatcher had said he was sleeping. It had taken her another hour to get up the nerve to go see him herself.
He looked so alone and helpless in there, dwarfed by the equipment surrounding him... She'd been surprised to think that he might be awake at all while on a ventilator. Didn't they normally knock people out for stuff like that? But then, she was no doctor. Obviously.
Oh god... Her throat suddenly tightened up and tears once more threatened as she watched him through the glass, only half-listening to what the nurse opposite her was saying. He could die! That's all she knew or needed to know. And if he did, it would be all her fault! If only she'd realized how sick he was... If only they'd gotten him to the hospital sooner... Just the chicken pox: She should have known better! Especially with the way he'd been coughing and how hard it was to control his fever.
She closed her eyes and prayed yet again that God would let him live. She'd never be able to forgive herself if he were to die!
"--Vecchio... Ms. Vecchio?" The nurse opposite her was demanding her attention.
Frannie forced the tears back, forced her eyes open, forced her attention back to the woman. "I'm sorry?" she apologized for her inattention.
"Are you all right?" the older woman asked with a concerned frown.
"Fine!" Frannie forced a smile as well. "I'm fine," she repeated, knowing her voice had come out too high and tight. She swallowed to clear her throat. "You were saying..?
"...That when you leave the room you need to immediately remove your gown and place it here in this bag." She indicated one of three large, canvas type laundry bags stretched on a wire frame next to the isolation suites. "Then go over there..." She pointed to a large double sink beside the nurse's station, "...and wash your hands. Don't go walking around or touching anything until after you do. It's very important for the sake of all the other patients that you follow these rules. Any questions?"
Frannie shook her head and the nurse nodded.
"You can go on in then," she allowed. "Mr. Fraser is sleeping--"
"--Constable," Frannie automatically corrected her.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Constable Fraser. He's..." Frannie stopped to listen to herself and realized how very unimportant his rank was. 'Mister' had simply struck her as odd. She dismissed it with another shake of her head. "...Never mind. What were you saying?"
"Okay, um, he's sleeping," she repeated, forcing her own mind back on task, "but a little restless, so we'd ask that you be quiet while you're with him and don't release the wrist restraints."
Frannie nodded solemnly and then suddenly frowned as movement in Ben's room caught her eye. An alarm of some sort suddenly broke the relative quiet of the ward, coming from the Nurses' Station and-- "Oh, my God..!" Frannie gasped and felt her heart leap into her throat. He was convulsing!
"Stay here!" the nurse ordered sharply even as she turned to the door and moved to help assist the attending nurse who was already at Ben's side.
Frannie couldn't move if she wanted too. She was frozen in shock and terror. Other's answered the call as well, grabbing up gowns and donning them even as they rushed into the room. The alarm was turned off as Ben was almost instantly surrounded by nurses and the on-call doctor.
And then Frannie's view was blocked as one of the nurses, spotting her pale face, grabbed the privacy curtain and drew it shut across the window.
***
A sudden wave of dizziness encompassed him, jerking him from... Hadn't he been asleep? But now he was standing... He blinked his eyes open, startled, and put out a hand to steady himself. His hand met a red serge clad chest. Frowning, he blinked again and glanced up to meet his father's solemn gaze.
He glanced back down at his hand, realizing belatedly that he was touching his father, something he'd never been able to do before. He pulled his hand away and closed it, feeling rather strange and... He felt the beginnings of fear and glanced up again, only to quickly follow his father's grim gaze across the room...
Ben saw himself still lying on the ICU bed, now lowered flat, surrounded by nurses and...
"Clear!"
He watched as his body jumped and realized the doctor had used a defibrillator to deliver a cardiac countershock. Somehow, he knew it wasn't the first. He'd been disconnected from the respirator and a nurse quickly stepped forward to begin bagging him as the others turned to look at the cardiac readout: Flat line.
"360!" the doctor ordered curtly without moving the paddles. The electrical pre-charge was adjusted and, a moment later, his body jumped again. The monitor continued to present a flat line. The doctor shook her head and immediately started cardiac compressions even as she ordered, "Epinephrine, 1 milligram, and start a lidocaine drip."
He glanced again to his father, but the other man had nothing to offer except a slight shrug and sympathetic frown. Ben turned back to the tableau before him. "Oh, dear..." he offered quietly.
***
"It's my fault," Frannie whispered, repeating her self-accusation forlornly as she sat with her mother and Maria in the small ICU waiting room and dabbed in vain at red rimmed eyes. She was trying hard not to fall apart and was failing miserably. If only she'd realized how sick he was... If only they'd gotten him to the hospital sooner... She should have known, should have realized, the cough, the hard to control fever, sleeping all the time... The kids had never done that. The sniffles and scratching, that was all they'd had to worry about with them. Yeah, she knew it was supposed to be harder on adults but... My God! Why hadn't she seen it? Had her dreams blinded her so much that... If he died, it would be her fault! It would be all her fault!
Her mother's gentle murmur and the hand rubbing comforting circles between her shoulder blades suddenly stopped and Frannie glanced up with everyone else then, to see Dr. Stewart standing before them.
"Frannie?" the doctor asked in gentle concern, dredging the name from memory with difficulty as she frowned and knelt before the younger woman. Fortunately, they were the only ones in the small waiting room at present. "Hey, it's a little early for the waterworks don't you think? Benny's still hanging in there."
Frannie swallowed convulsively and fought to find her voice again. "He's going to be all right?"
The doctor glanced down and away for a moment, unwilling to go that far, then back up. "He's alive," she answered, stressing the positive.
Frannie couldn't hear it. Her face crumpled again and she bowed her head as new tears threatened.
"Is your brother around?" Dr. Stewart asked gently, glancing at the other two women for a possible answer.
Frannie's head jerked up again with a look of horror. "You're not... I mean, you're not thinking... about..."
The doctor easily read her fear and understood what she couldn't bring herself to say. "No," she answered, and reached out to take the other woman's hands in her own, hoping to instill some strength and calm. They were like ice. "No," she repeated, glancing at the other two to include them. "We're not thinking about letting him go. Not yet, anyway."
"Then why..." Frannie had to fight to calm her racing heart so she could speak again. The last part of what the doctor said penetrated slowly. "Not yet..!" she echoed fearfully.
The doctor did not look happy and glanced to the other two women. "Mr. Vecchio really should be here for this," she told them softly, side-stepping his sister's question even as she lightly chafed the cold hands between her own.
"He is a police officer and had to go to work," the older woman to Frannie's left, whom Dr. Stewart dared assume was her mother, answered. "We are to call him with any change. And he promised to come if there is an emergency..?"
Dr. Stewart pursed her lips for a second and considered that. As Mr. Fraser's next of kin, he needed to be informed of the change in his friend's condition. She also felt he needed to be here to help hold his sister together. However, she knew well that the living had to make a living. She could only assume that his being here would mean risking his job. If that were the case, then, "No," she shook her head. The situation was not yet critical.
"But you're worried." It was Frannie who forced herself to say this, anxiously studying the doctor who knelt before them. Dr. Stewart studied her in turn, noting she hadn't made it a question. The younger woman had managed to shore up her emotional dam, at least for the moment, and was waiting expectantly.
"I won't lie to you, Ms. Vecchio," she offered solemnly, glancing at the others to include them as well. "Your friend gave us a definite scare back there. He suffered a seizure and cardiac arrest. It took us a few minutes to get him back. Had it continued much longer, I would have called it and let him go as per his instructions concerning resusitation. He made himself rather clear on when we were, and were not, to attempt to revive him before he was intubated," she explained, hoping to prepare them if it happened again. Giving 'the family' the facts, no matter how painful, was often the best way to help them deal with a situation. She was afraid that Mr. Fraser's chances of surviving the next twelve hours had deteriorated rather significantly, but she wasn't willing to be that blunt with them.
"Once we had him back, we discovered a couple of other complications which, I suspect, aggravated his condition and caused the seizure and congestive heart failure. The first was some pleural effusion which didn't show up very clearly on his last x-rays, meaning that fluids from the lungs have leaked into the space surrounding them, the pleural cavity. It's not at all uncommon in patients with pneumonia. You can think of the pleural cavity as a sealed vacuum chamber. When you breathe, the diaphragm (she put her hand at the base of her chest, palm down) expands this chamber, causing a vacuum and forcing the lungs to expand and draw in air. (She demonstrated by pushing her hand down and expanding her chest. Then relaxed again.) You get fluids leaking in there and suddenly, it's taking up room and the lungs can't expand as much."
The elder Vecchio woman crossed herself, drawing out a rosary and glancing toward the ceiling as she offered a quick and silent prayer.
"Treatment is fairly simple and straight forward," Dr. Stewart continued in a calm and dispassionate voice, wanting to make sure they understood what Mr. Fraser's exact condition was. "We've removed the fluid and inserted a chest tube. It should not become a problem again. However, it did cause us a few other problems along the way; or, more accurately, exacerbated problems we already knew about.
"You see, one aspect of the ventilator setup we're using with him includes something called PEEP, or positive end-expiratory pressure. This helps keep his lungs... open, especially the smaller air sacs or alveoli. Well, the heart has to share the same space in his chest as the lungs do and so PEEP winds up causing the lungs to press up against the heart. Add the pleural effusion and you suddenly have even more pressure on the heart. This pressure can interfere with its rhythm and impair venous return which means that even though we're getting the oxygen into his bloodstream, the heart may not be able to move it around the way it needs to. The body starts producing ADH which causes edema, meaning he starts to retain water because the body thinks blood volume is low when it isn't and his tissues have to fight to handle it. The pericardium, or the sac around the heart, which is already fighting a fluid imbalance because of the virus just as the lungs are, swells as well, which puts even more pressure on the heart, impairing its function even further. This in turn affects the rest of the body; the liver, the kidneys and even the brain. If the brain isn't getting enough oxygen this causes vasodilation which can cause it to swell and..." She sighed, realizing belatedly that she was giving them far too much information to absorb. "It's a kind of chain reaction," she summarized. "The end result, or one of them, is congestive heart failure. And brain swelling which... Well, the seizure could have been caused by any number of things." She shook her head. Damn. She really should have thought this through better before she tried to explain it...
"It's a balancing act," she tried again, forcing herself to keep it simple. K.I.S.S, she told herself: Keep It Simple Stupid. She sighed again. "We're readjusting the ventilator even now. We've lowered the PEEP which takes pressure off the heart, and increased his FiO2, or the actual percentage of oxygen he's getting. In point of fact, we're purposely hyperventilating him at the moment which should help reduce the brain swelling and..."
She was still getting too technical. It had just been too long since she'd actually had to deal one on one with a patient and his family in a critical care situation. Her practice was almost exclusively made up of consult jobs!
"Good news," she offered, forcing herself to break it down into black and white for the family. "We caught everything in time and I don't think there was any permanent damage done. We won't know for sure for a couple of days, but he's responding well to the new therapies. We've just about got him stabilized again. If we can keep him there another twelve hours or so, we should start to see the anti-viral kick in, at which point he should improve quite rapidly.
"Bad news..." She paused to blow out an unhappy breath and give them a second to brace themselves, then forced herself to meet their worried gazes again. "He's gone into a coma. Now..." she went on quickly before they could get too upset, "it may not be all that serious, just his brain shutting down for a little bit to recover from the abuse of everything that's going on. I wouldn't be surprised at all if I went in there right now and he was trying to wake up." She sighed. "But comas are strange things," she admitted. "I've ordered a number of tests to rule out more serious complications and possible causes; and if I find anything, or if he doesn't come around within the next day or so, I'll be calling for a neurological consult. So..."
She sighed again, letting her gaze sweep the three woman to judge their reactions. The other two seemed to be handling it about as she'd expected, but 'Frannie' had her worried. She frowned in concern as the younger woman continued to sit with her head down, tissue to her face, sobbing silently. The doctor cocked a questioning eyebrow at her mother.
"She is blaming herself for not calling the ambulance sooner," Ma offered quietly, shaking her head in concern of her own as she put her arm about her youngest daughter's quaking form again.
Dr. Stewart nodded pensively. "It's natural to want to blame someone or something when these sort of things happen, even ourselves; but we're often wrong to do so. Was it your idea to call the ambulance, or his?"
"I -- I should have -- I --" She could barely breathe around her tears, let alone talk.
"Ms. Vecchio," the doctor addressed her quite seriously and squeezed the hands she still held in an effort to help her focus. "Just answer the question. Was it your idea to call the ambulance, or his?"
Frannie glanced up in confusion and pain. "But -- but if I'd gotten him here sooner..."
"--If you'd gotten him here sooner," the doctor picked up her words and continued, "the doctors in the emergency room would have likely given him a breathing treatment and sent him home with a bottle of caladryl. The pneumonia might not have even shown up yesterday, if they bothered to order x-rays at all." She paused a long moment as the young woman opposite her blinked, fighting to absorb what she was saying. "Adult onset chicken pox is very rare, Frannie," she continued quietly, "and varicella pneumonia is even more rare. Doctors can go through their entire careers and never see a case. Most deaths occur because the patient doesn't bother to seek medical help until it's too late. And I suspect that would have been the case here if you hadn't picked up the phone, wouldn't it? It wasn't his idea, was it?"
Ma had to lean forward to see her daughter's face. "Answer her, mi cara," she insisted.
Frannie closed her eyes and shook her head, but it wasn't that easy for her to forgive herself. "If it had been caught sooner--"
"--If it were caught sooner... If the doctors had recognized the danger signs... If they hadn't dismissed it as 'just chicken pox'... If they'd started him on anti-viral medications immediately..." The doctor sighed. "Those are a lot of 'ifs', Frannie, and frankly rather unlikely. And even if all of that had happened, there'd still be no guarantees. He might very well be in the exact same condition as he is now; and it wouldn't be because of anything you, or anyone else, did or didn't do. The fact that you did call the ambulance, probably before he wanted you too, is one of the few reasons he's alive now. You need to stop beating yourself up over this. Really."
Frannie glanced up again, her eyes searching the doctor's face as if she were afraid to believe what she was hearing.
"You see, Francesca?" Ma added her voice to that of the doctor and shook her head. "We tried to tell her. She would not listen."
The doctor nodded, knowing that the other woman was still probably trying to blame herself, but she couldn't afford to devote any more time to it at the moment. She felt it was important to treat the whole family in times of medical crisis. They were the patient's support group. It was important that they understand what was going on and have the support they needed so they could best help their loved one and the doctors caring for them. But she had to get back to Mr. Fraser.
"Would you like me to see if I can find a counselor or the Chaplain?" she offered. It would be a simple matter to have a nurse track someone down who did have the time to help them and who was properly trained to do so. She was out of her league here.
Frannie shook her head, wiping her nose and bowing her face again. "I'll be okay," she answered quietly.
The two women with her watched her in guarded concern. Dr. Stewart looked to her mother for direction, but the older woman shook her head. "We will call Father Behan if we need him, thank you."
"Okay..." she nodded, leaving the decision up to them, and stood once again. "I'm going to get back with him, then. If you have any other questions, or need anything, just ask one of the nurses. And please tell Mr. Vecchio what I've told you. I don't think he needs to come in yet; but as Mr. Fraser's next of kin, he needs to be made aware of what's happened. Someone will let you know if there are any further changes."
Ma and Maria nodded but chose not to rise. "Thank you, Doctor," Ma offered quietly. Having done what she could for them, Dr. Stewart turned and hurried back to her patient.
***
Ben opened his eyes and frowned in confusion. Something wasn't right, obviously. He couldn't remember where he was supposed to be or how he'd gotten... What was he doing lying in the snow staring up through the trees as low clouds skittered quickly across the afternoon sky?
"Freezing your butt off?" Bob suggested helpfully. He suddenly leaned into his son's view and smiled down at him. "'Or maybe you were thinking about making a snow angel? Bet you haven't done that in several years. He straightened and frowned at the landscape around them without really seeing it. "Why is it as we grow up we forget about playing and having fun... until we get too old; and then everyone says we're senile for daring to do what we always wanted to do anyway?" He glanced back down and stamped his foot experimentally. " 'Course, the ground here's a little rough..."
"Dad..." Ben interrupted him, knowing the man could easily ramble endlessly if he didn't. But... This must be the Borderlands, he realized as he glanced around in confusion, or an aspect of them he hadn't seen. He'd dreamt of home before, but this... This was different, more like... when he visited his father's office in his closet. At least sometimes it was there, sometimes not. Usually, if the office was there, then there was something he and his father needed to talk about, even if Ben didn't understand why or what about.
He frowned. Despite occasionally having had to deal with his father's ghost, or spirit, or whatever he was, for more than two years now, Ben still wasn't convinced that their meetings weren't all a product of his own rather overactive subconscious. He tended to question his own sanity after every meeting, though if such meetings were a product of some slight insanity it seemed harmless enough. At the same time, he knew Buck Frobisher, and apparently Gerrard as well, had seen and spoken with his father, so...
"Still twisting your noggin' over that nonsense, Son?" Bob asked and offered a sad cluck of his tongue. "Stuff and nonsense. Reality is whatever we choose to perceive it to be, and we all see it differently. Now, are you going to lie there all day, or are we going to go ice fishing?"
"Ice fishing?"
"Yes!" Bob sighed in exasperation and frowned down at him. "Well, why do you think you're here? Your grandfather's chickens got sick and have flown the coop. There's a storm brewing. We've gotta hurry and round them up, then build an igloo to replace the old coop or they'll die."
Ben sat up and discovered himself dressed for ice fishing. His rod, tackle box and an ice auger lay beside him. "What has that got to do with ice fishing?" he wondered aloud, feeling rather dense for not being able to see a connection.
"Nothing," Bob answered. "We're going to do that after we save the chickens. So, come on already. Time's a flyin, and one never knows how fast time is going to fly in the Borderlands." He turned away, heading into the trees and leaving a very confused Ben to scramble after him... or make snow angels. He didn't seem to care which.
Ben shook his head and climbed quickly to his feet. He decided he must be dreaming, though it was certainly different from any dream he'd had before. There was something different about it that worried him. Something he was forgetting...
He shook his head again, dismissing the vague uneasiness, and bent to grab up his equipment before following after his father's form.
***
Ray sat silently beside the quiescent form, trying not to think as he listened to the soft, rhythmic hiss of the respirator. The nurse moved about them silently, performing the myriad tiny duties necessary to keep Benny's tenuous hold on life as stable as possible without disturbing the man who sat such a grim vigil at his friend's side.
He blinked dry, burning eyes and sat back with a sigh, realizing he'd been staring at one of the silently flashing readouts for far too long without really seeing it. He didn't know what the light meant, only that it was normal. Normal... As if anything about the situation could be called 'normal'. He lifted a hand to gently rub the protesting orbs and fought to ignore the headache that was beginning to pound at his temples.
He should get up, he knew; go get a cup of coffee, go talk to Ma or call Welsh... or something. A glance at his watch told him it was only two. He'd only been here a couple of hours. It felt like ten.
He remembered getting the call from Ma just before lunch. Seizure? Heart failure! He'd ignored her when she said the doctor didn't think he needed to come in, and had gone straight to Welsh. As he'd hoped, and more than half expected, Welsh took one look at him and dismissed him for the day, saying he'd be useless to the department anyway. (True, Ray knew.) ...And to keep him appraised.
A simple glance between the two men had spoken volumes. Ray knew his boss was more than stretching departmental regulations concerning time off, given all the time he'd already had off this year; and that Welsh was sure to get in some hot water because of it but he'd handle it. Just like Ray would handle whatever discipline the higher-ups demanded.
There went all the 'atta-boys' he'd gotten for helping to stop Bolt from blowing up Chicago.
He glanced at Benny with a little smile as he remembered pulling that crazy stunt of jumping off a bridge onto a speeding train. That sort of thing was much more super-Mountie's style. Benny was rubbing off on him...
The smile faded. Damn, but it was hard remembering stuff like that and then seeing his friend just lie there, wires and tubes and IV lines the only things to tell Ray he was still alive. There wasn't so much as a twitch from the comatose man in the bed.
He sighed again and suddenly let his head fall back, stretching his neck muscles, rolling his head from side to side. He needed a break, but a part of him was afraid to leave Benny's side. This wasn't like the last time, the time he'd shot Benny. Once he'd gotten out of surgery back then, no one had talked about him dying. They'd been afraid he might never walk again, but no one had thought he'd...
God, why did he have to remember that? Those first few days had been a nightmare for Ray. He'd been torn between anger and regret, grief and betrayal... And though he'd managed to work through his feelings about everything, managed to reestablish his friendship with Benny... this sitting here again was bringing it all back. He remembered it like it was yesterday.
Stupid.
God, he hated this! Hated the silent, interminable waiting. The not knowing. He'd grilled the doctor again when she'd shown up earlier. She'd taken him out into the hall to read him the riot act for doing so around her patient and promised that if he didn't control himself in future he wouldn't be allowed back in! He smiled at the memory. She had spunk. Then she'd answered his questions, just as bluntly as he'd asked them.
His smile disappeared again as he remembered the prognosis. It wasn't good. Benny's fever was up and they were having problems maintaining his fluid balance. The edema was getting worse again. Liver enzymes were rising and his kidneys were shutting down. When pressed, she'd dropped Benny's chances to less than thirty percent...
Ray still couldn't believe that a simple case of chicken pox was doing all this!
He swallowed around a tight throat and blinked eyes that were no longer so dry, forcing the fear back and away. Again. He wasn't giving up hope: 'No, dammit!' he told himself. This was Benny they were talking about. He couldn't die! He--
Ray abruptly brought himself up short. He was starting to lose it. More than thirty-six hours without much sleep and now all the stress of this...
Time for a break, whether he wanted one or not.
He leaned forward in the chair toward that pale face, ignoring the tape and gauze holding the ET tube in place, the slight jerk and expansion of the clear, ribbed plastic as the machine delivered another breath. "Hey, Benny," he whispered gently. He knew the man was comatose and probably couldn't hear him, but he wasn't going to just walk out without telling him either. "Look, ah, I gotta take a break here. Maybe catch a cup of coffee or something to eat. I won't be long."
He also needed to try and get Frannie back in here, he knew. The nurses would only allow one visitor at a time and, ever since she'd seen him go into convulsions, Frannie had balked at the idea of coming anywhere near him, terrified she was some kind of a bad luck charm or something. But Ray also knew that if Benny did die, she'd never forgive herself for not having been with him when he needed those who loved him to be there the most.
Maybe Ray could hunt the Doc down and get her to bend the rules so he could come in with Frannie, even if it was only for a minute...
He blew out an anxious breath and forced himself to stand up, giving the hand he'd been holding a gentle squeeze before releasing it, ignoring the slightly puffy look it had taken on. "Hang in there, Benny," he told his friend. "A few more hours and that med stuff they're giving you will be kicking butt and taking names. Don't go giving up on us yet."
The soft, predictable hiss of the respirator was his only answer.
He glanced over at the nurse and gave her a slight nod, in acknowledgment and silent gratitude for her quiet work. "I'll be back," he assured her as well as his friend, then turned and exited the room, praying as he did so that Benny would still be there when he got back.
***
"Hey, Ray."
His head jerked up in surprise as he re-entered the ICU waiting area and heard Jack Huey's soft voice. Not surprisingly, Elaine stood beside him. Ray blinked, taking in her silent and worried nod of greeting, and forced his weariness and dark thoughts away. "Jack. Elaine." He nodded in turn. "What you two doing here?" He already knew but, it being the middle of the day and all, he was a bit surprised.
"Getting my nails done," Elaine answered flippantly, trying to don an upbeat facade as he joined them. "So... how's he doing?" It was unnecessary to define which 'he' was meant.
Ray glanced to where Ma and Frannie sat watching them from across the waiting area. Apparently Maria had gone to take care of the kids.
"Yeah," Huey added, following Ray's glance and lowering his voice even further for the sake of his family. "Welsh said his heart stopped?" Jack couldn't believe that and figured his boss must have heard wrong or something. He was shocked when Ray nodded.
"Not good," the rather haggard looking man opposite the temporary team answered, his voice little more than a whisper as he turned slightly away from his family, making it even less likely for them to be able to make out what he was saying. He wasn't up to giving them the latest details just yet. "Pneumonia. Heart failure. Coma. Liver and kidneys shutting down..." He shook his head as he rattled off the short list and let out a sigh of frustration. "If the medicines they're giving him don't kick in real soon, he's not going to make it."
"'Not going to...'" Huey stared at Ray for a long moment and then shared a look of disbelief with his partner. Elaine was equally shocked. "Wha-wha-wait a minute," he then stuttered, shaking his head firmly and offering Ray a suddenly accusatory glare. "This is a joke, right? A really sick and disgusting joke... He has chicken pox, for Christ's sake! Nobody dies of chicken pox!"
Ray returned his glare with a look that was just too depressed and frustrated to carry anything but the truth. "You ever had chicken pox?" he asked from out of left field, causing them both to do double-takes.
"Yeah," Huey answered.
"No," Elaine answered. "Why?"
Ray stared dispassionately at her. "Go get vaccinated," he ordered bluntly and turned to go, not having any energy left to spare for more.
"Ray!" Huey kept his voice down but reached out to grab his arm The balding Italian shot him an exhausted and more than slightly irritated frown. Huey immediately released him and lifted his hands in mock surrender. "Look: I'm sorry. I... didn't know. Is there anything we can do? I mean..." He frowned helplessly, knowing there'd be nothing but still needing to offer. He'd never gotten particularly close to Fraser. There'd even been a point right after Louis was killed that he seriously hated the man. But he'd become something of an icon around the precinct. It was hard to imagine the place without him. And like him or not, Jack had always respected him as a police officer: a damn fine one at that. Besides, the Chicago Detective knew too well the terrible pain of losing a partner. That was something he'd never wish on anyone else, let alone someone like Ray.
Ray glanced down and nodded, silent acceptance and understanding of all Jack left unsaid, then lifted haunted eyes that spoke far too clearly of the deep fear and concern he fought to keep in check. "Pray," he said simply.
Huey glanced away, uncomfortable in the face of the intense emotions Ray was fighting not to project... and failing. Elaine bowed her head, tempted to give Ray a hug but knowing instinctively that it wouldn't be welcomed just now.
The other man suddenly closed his eyes and sighed. It was a massive sigh, seemingly coming from the bottom of his feet. He was so tired... With a massive effort, Ray shoved the feelings that Huey's questions had brought to the surface back under control again and lifted his head. "You never did tell me what you're doing here," he offered, presenting his two friends with a more normal (if tired) facade. He offered Huey a crooked if somewhat weak grin. "I mean, it's only a little after two. Don't you have a murder suspect to chase down and lose? No offense, Elaine."
Back on even footing once again, Huey answered the jeer with amused tolerance. "We were on our way to meet with a snitch on the Hinkey case at three," he answered. "We'll have that one cleared by the end of the week. The hospital was on our way."
Ray nodded, but he wasn't really listening and they both knew it.
"Yeah, we'd better get going," Elaine decided, glancing at Frannie and Ma Vecchio again and offering them an encouraging smile. Even discussing this was obviously taking a toll on Ray. "Wanta get a cup of coffee with us? I think I saw a machine on the way up?" She knew Ray needed a break, a chance to breathe before he went to sit with his family.
Again the tired nod. Ray glanced over at Ma and Frannie. "Either of you want some coffee?" he called. They merely shook their heads. "I need a caffeine hit," he told them. "Be back in a minute."
Jack and Elaine smiled and nodded their goodbyes to the women, Jack offering a thumbs up, and then walked over to the elevators with Ray between them. Ray didn't even notice, or just didn't care, when Jack draped a sympathetic arm about his shoulders as the elevator opened and they stepped inside.
***
Ben paused in his efforts and frowned at the structure around him. Igloos were supposed to be round, he thought, but for some reason this one wasn't cooperating. It should in fact be almost impossible to build a square igloo, but the laws of physics here seemed to be as confused as his father. Ben glanced to where the chickens sat clucking and fussing in the doorway of the barn and wondered again why they had to build an igloo in the first place. The dogs could always be staked and didn't seem particularly interested in the fowl anyway for some reason, though Ben knew they should be...
"Dad?" he asked in confusion.
"Yes, Son?" Bob replied without looking back as he lifted a triangular block of snow into position with surprising ease. It stayed in place even though Ben knew it shouldn't. At the same time, he wasn't sure why he knew it shouldn't...
"Dad..." he began again, then frowned and cocked his head to the side as he stared at the impossible block of snow.
"Yes?" Bob repeated, turning at last to see the very confused look on his son's face. "Something wrong?"
"I... I don't know..." he answered honestly.
"Feeling odd?" Bob asked in sudden, sharp concern.
Ben straightened his head, considering that. "I'm not sure what odd is..."
"Odd is anything that isn't what it was before. Are you feeling different?" He frowned, studying his son closely for any changes...
Ben cocked his head in the other direction, pensively... "I feel confused," he finally decided. "Like I'm forgetting something, something important..."
"Oh," Bob sighed in apparent relief. He offered a mild chuckle as whatever fear he'd held was dismissed. "Is that all?" He turned, brushing the snow from his hands and stomping it from his heavy mukluk-covered feet. "I was afraid for a second... Doesn't matter." He shrugged, settling his coat more comfortably. A part of him was afraid of losing Ben... not to death necessarily. Everyone died. But losing him the way he had Caroline... He dismissed the fear, knowing that he had no control over any of it anyway. Now wasn't the time to contemplate such mysteries. "You are forgetting something," he explained. "Nothing odd in realizing that."
"Am I supposed to forget?" Ben asked, confused by his father's ready acceptance of the fact.
"This is the Borderlands, Son," Bob answered, coming to stand beside him. "There's no 'supposed to' here. It just does that to people sometimes."
"Makes them forget?"
"Sometimes," Bob repeated and shrugged.
Ben put down the snow saw and brushed off his own gloved hands as his father watched. Then the younger man turned away and gazed out over the snow-covered wilderness around them. It was beautiful. Just as he remembered. But...
Something wasn't right.
He suddenly frowned as he realized how long he'd been here, or seemed to have been here. "Am I..." He couldn't quite bring himself to complete the thought.
"...Dead?" Bob completed it for him. "No, Son," he answered. "Not yet, anyway."
"Not yet..." Ben repeated, knowing the truth of the words even as he spoke them. "But I am dying, aren't I..." He turned back to his father, not really making it a question.
Bob sighed and looked down at his feet for a long moment. "Yes," he answered, then glanced back up. "But dying and being dead are two very different things, Son. The one doesn't always lead to the other."
"Meaning..."
"Meaning I don't know, Ben," his father answered seriously, glancing upward again and lifting a brow to indicate significance. "They haven't decided yet."
Ben glanced up as well, seeing only darkening clouds as the storm his father had predicted earlier continued to roll in. "This storm..." he suddenly offered, frowning as he considered the unchanging nature of all he'd seen around him... except the clouds.
"It's your illness, Son," Bob confirmed gravely. "It's getting worse."
"I'm sick?" Ben asked in confusion. He seemed to be trying to remember something. Something about a hospital and ... itching. Or choking. ...Why did those memories seem like one and the same thing? It didn't make sense.
"Dying never makes sense, Son," Bob answered the unvoiced thought gently, "until after you're dead. Then everything makes sense. Or maybe it just doesn't matter anymore. I'm not sure which it is. Probably both. Can't really explain it. I wouldn't worry about it yet, if I were you: there are simply some things the mortal mind was never meant to grasp."
Ben continued to frown in thought. "If I'm not dead... then what am I doing here?" He waved a hand to indicate the wide sweeping vista that was the Borderlands.
Bob smiled ruefully and pointed heavenward again. "Arguing with them!" he claimed. "Can't you hear it?"
Hear it? Ben stopped to listen, holding his breath and concentrating to try and catch something beyond the sounds of the chickens and slowly rising wind... It was Ray's voice he heard behind the other noises, but ...like a distant whisper, little more than a memory lifting up to echo within his own thoughts.
-- 'Hang in there, Benny,' the tired and gentle tones told him. 'A few more hours ... med stuff they're giving you ... kicking butt and taking names. Don't go giving up on us ...Don't go giving up... ...Don't give up... ... ...Don't ... give up... ... ...don't...' --
The words reverberated deep within Ben, touching a part of his soul and his soul answered. It was a disconcerting feeling... like tasting a hug, or smelling a sunset. And then the sound faded into silence again.
Bob nodded to himself. "You have a strong will to live, Son," he declared stoically. "You're not ready to cross over yet."
"I have a choice?" Ben asked, still painfully confused.
"Sometimes," Bob answered. With a sigh, he frowned up at the clouds. "However, as much as I wish you the best, and that those medicines the doctors are giving you would 'kick butt' as your friend so colorfully put it, I think we need to prepare for the worst..."
The older man suddenly sighed and bent to pick up another oddly shaped block of snow. "Come on, then," he said impatiently. "Grab up that saw and let's get back to work. This igloo isn't going to build itself, you know!"
Feeling very much like a man who suddenly found himself alone and lost at sea without a compass or sextant, Ben frowned at his father's apparent absurdity but followed his lead. He didn't understand the importance of the igloo or how anything here related to anything that must be happening in the real world, where he knew he must be lying in a hospital bed somewhere fighting for his life...
But he knew his father was right.
The other man's earlier words about reality being what he perceived it to be and everyone perceiving it differently came back to play in his mind. He had to wonder, if he were sick... maybe the fever had pushed him over the edge into full-fledged insanity?
Without further question, he bent to pick up the snow saw and began shaping blocks for the square igloo once again.
***
Frannie could feel herself trembling as Ray stood behind her tying the laces of the hospital gown and tried very hard to stop. Ray would surely notice it and give her another heart to heart lecture about 'keeping the faith' and everything. She bit her lip as she stared through the glass window into the isolation room where Benton lay so helpless and alone. He looked so terrible, so...
Dead.
God, how could she even think that word! She closed her eyes and fought her fear and pain away, sending up yet another prayer for the man in that hospital bed. He was such a good man, after all, a man who made a difference to the world, who actually could and did change things for the better around him. Few people even bothered to try anymore. It was all about 'me' and 'mine' and 'I want', but Ben wasn't like that. The world would be a much poorer place if he were to ...die. And a part of her dreams, not only the part about a future with him, but another part, a bigger and more important part, that was embodied by him and all he stood for but which really had little to do with him, would die as well. He'd come to mean so much more than a handsome face to her. He was what the world should be, what it could be if only enough people tried. If he died, a small piece of that would have been stolen away forever.
And it would be her fault.
Oh, she'd heard the doctor's arguments, heard her mother and sister's reassurances, heard her brother telling her to stop being stupid... but the words were empty. Meaningless. None of it mattered. If Benton died then it would be because she hadn't paid attention, because she'd been too busy dreaming her stupid little girl faerie-tale fantasy dreams rather than noticing his cough and fever and...
She could have made the ER doctors listen. She could have raised a stink that would have blown the roof right off this place! She could have made them catch it in time, made them do X-rays and tests and see how serious it was. She should have! She should have done it when they first brought him in, not trusted her brother to handle it. The man had been left sitting in that exam room for how many hours before they did anything? She was an idiot! She should have-- And then maybe Benton wouldn't be--
Dying.
She closed her eyes, fighting for control. A single terrified tear traced a warm path down her cold cheek, but she refused to let any others join it. She knew something about comas. She'd watched ER and General Hospital and Emergency. She knew the patients could sometimes hear you, sometimes know everything that was going on around them. Benton was in enough trouble and pain without her adding to it. It was her fault he was there to begin with. The least she could do was not make it any worse for him.
She felt Ray finally finish tying the back of the thing closed and then take her shoulders to turn her around. Hastily, she lifted a hand to wipe at her face, throwing her composure back around her like war-dented armor or something. It was impossible to hide the traces of her earlier tears, impossible to pretend that everything was normal and going to be fine, but she could put on a brave mask for Ray, could straighten her spine and meet his eyes with a semblance of calm. She was not going to fall apart again. Ray was right, she knew. She had to do this. She had to go in there and be with him, even if it was only for a couple of minutes. Even if it was...
Goodbye.
Stop it, Frannie! she hissed within her own mind. She didn't know he if he were going to die or not. She had to stop thinking this way! God or someone else might be listening and just decide to pay attention. She had to think positive. She had to will him to fight, to keep fighting, to live!
She sent another fervent prayer streaking up to heaven.
Was the Patron Saint of cops the same as the Patron Saint of Mounties? Was there a guardian angel sitting at his side even now, doing battle for his life? Could her wishes and hopes and prayers strengthen that angel and help him fight for Ben?
Eyes of forest green dappled in sunlight gazed deeply into her own and saw far more than she wanted them to see. Her brother saw it and understood it and, to her surprise, accepted it. "You doing okay?" he asked just above a whisper. She could feel him willing his strength into her.
She offered a tight nod and even managed a slight smile. "I can do this," she said, reassuring herself as well as her brother.
"Are you sure?" the nurse who was helping them asked gently, placing an understanding and comforting arm about the smaller woman's shoulders. "It's important that you not get upset in there. He's in a coma and probably can't hear you, but sometimes..." She rubbed a gentle circle between Frannie's shoulder blades. "Sometimes they know. He needs to be concentrating on getting well, not worried about you, okay? If you're going to get upset, it would be better to stay out here."
"Yeah. We can just stand out here and look through the glass if you want," Ray added, following the nurse's lead. "I don't think it makes much of a difference."
"No," Frannie shook her head. "It makes a difference," she was certain. She needed to be in there. She needed to hold his hand. She needed to pray with him as well as for him. She needed to ask him for his forgiveness, even if she couldn't say the words out loud... She didn't know if Benton could hear her heart from out here.
It made a difference, to her if to no one else.
"Okay," he sighed, seeing the determination that had suddenly suffused her eyes. He glanced up and gave the nurse a reassuring nod. He knew Frannie could do this. Even more, he knew she needed to. "Okay," he repeated. "Ready?"
Frannie swallowed convulsively and nodded. Ray echoed her nod grimly and, replacing the nurse's gentle touch with his own, helped guide his sister through the door as the nurse held it open for them.
***
Ben frowned as he considered the interior of the square igloo and the clucking chickens who flapped and danced around them. He and his father had finished the odd and impossible construction about the same time the clouds began to growl with thunder.
Getting the chickens inside had been the tricky part.
He sighed and turned to contemplate his father. The ghost (or delusion or whatever he was!) was in the process of using Ben's brace and ice auger to drill a hole in the middle of the floor. The younger man hadn't even realized until that moment that they'd been building the igloo on the frozen lake behind his grandfather's place. He'd known, or at least his father had told him, that they were going to go ice fishing after building the igloo and saving the chickens. He hadn't realized that they'd be doing it from within the igloo with the chickens for company!
"Dad..." he offered, having to raise his voice to be heard over the squawking chickens. A black and white mottled feather typical of the ridiculous, silly creatures flew up in his face and startled him, but he quickly batted it away with an irritated frown. An igloo as a chicken coop didn't make a lot of sense, but using the same coop as an ice fishing shanty made even less! He shook his head in total bewilderment as his father glanced up from what he was doing. "Is any of this supposed to make any sense to me...a'tall?!" he asked in exasperation.
"Sense?" Bob repeated and glanced around, quite obviously not seeing anything so unusual about their situation. "What's not to make sense? You're sick, that's the storm rolling in. The chickens are... well, frankly the chickens are a damn nuisance." He suddenly turned to the ice shelf they'd built against one wall where most of the chickens had congregated and shouted, "Shut up already! 'Can't you see we're trying to have a conversation over here?"
Much to Ben's amazement, the chickens immediately fell silent and stared at his father in surprise.
"That's better," the older man decided. "Now settle down and find a roost for a while or we'll be having chicken for dinner instead of fish!"
The chickens immediately set about finding places on the shelf and settling down for a nap. Why this fact should bother him, Ben didn't know. After all, he commonly spoke with Diefenbaker and knew the wolf well enough to understand him in turn. Why shouldn't his father be able to speak to his grandfather's chickens... Some how that rationale just didn't want to fit. Ben shook his head and simply added the impossibility to the growing list of rather maddening twists and turns that reality seemed wont to take here.
Bob ignored the look of utter confusion. "You were saying, Son..? Oh!" He frowned as he suddenly remembered. "Making sense of everything, wasn't it?"
Ben nodded. "I understand the storm coming in represents my illness," he allowed, pausing a moment to listen to the winds that were beginning to whip around beyond their snug little shelter, "but, ah..." He frowned at the igloo and the chickens and lifted an eyebrow when he glanced at the hole his father was trying to make.
"It's really quite simple," Bob answered, turning to take up the auger and brace again. "Everything here either represents your illness or your fight against it. The storm is your illness, the igloo is you fight, the strength of its walls is directly proportional to your strength. Frankly..." he frowned at the odd construction, "it's not as strong as I'd like. The chickens, of course, are the chicken pox... though I do wish you'd chosen a less literal representation than your grandfather's French Houdans! Why couldn't you just imagine yourself covered in spots? Oh well, it's your head. I suppose you have your reasons." He offered a soft grunt of effort as he twisted the auger into the ice underfoot. "I just hope you imagined nice thick ice here because I certainly don't relish the idea of taking a plunge in the lake!"
***
Ray paused just beyond the doorway to Benny's room as Frannie, in front of him, hesitated. This wasn't going to be easy for her, but he knew it was important. Despite all the sibling rivalry that existed between them, he really did love his kid sister. He hated to see her hurting and dared offer a tiny prayer for a minor miracle: that Benny would wake up while they were there and somehow they'd know everything would be all right.
He glanced around the room as he waited for his sister, noting the same things he'd noted before: the soft, low thrum of the air filter as it worked to maintain a slight negative air pressure preventing the spread of disease; the picayune, almost sweet antiseptic smell that was even stronger in here than elsewhere in the hospital; the quiet and somehow reassuring sounds of the various pieces of equipment which surrounded their friend...
There had been changes too: another IV bag had been hung, its line snaking inside the collar of his hospital gown where fresh bandaging peaked out. Ray realized it must be the 'central line' that he'd been asked to approve. Also, the visual display of the monitor over Benny's head had been changed, now showing extra lines of information that Ray couldn't even begin to interpret. The sound of the ventilator had changed as well, the various lights and settings having been adjusted yet again. The sound of it was faster and shorter, more steady and predictable than he remembered.
And Benny... Was it just his imagination, or did he really look even worse than he had only a couple of hours ago?
Ray's eyes searched out the nurse, noting she was the same one as before. "How's he doing?" he asked quietly.
"I'm not his doctor, Mr. Vecchio," she answered evasively. "I can't say. About all I can tell you is that we've managed to get his temperature back down. That's one good thing at least."
One good thing. Only one, but it was a step in the right direction. The first positive step he'd heard since bringing Benny in -- Ray glanced at his watch -- Lord, was it really only eighteen hours ago? It felt like they'd been here for days!
Frannie interrupted his musing by stepping forward again and moving to Benny's bedside. Ray watched her silently as she hesitated again.
"You're welcome to talk to him," the nurse told her gently. "I'm sure he'd like the company."
"What... what's wrong with his hands?"
Ray moved to join his sister and followed her gaze to where Benny's hands rested at his side, the white gauze-like restraints very stark against the puffy and slightly yellow looking skin.
"The swelling, you mean?"
Frannie nodded.
"Well, he's very sick right now," the nurse explained gently. "His body isn't working as well as it needs too in order to keep his system flushed out, so his tissues are having to handle the overload. He's retaining a little fluid. You can hold his hand if you'd like. Just be gentle. He'll bruise very easy right now."
Again, Frannie merely nodded. Ray could only guess what it had cost her to speak in the first place. She closed her eyes for a short second, perhaps praying for strength, and then opened them again as she gently wrapped the lifeless hand in her own small grasp. Ray wrapped an arm about her shoulders in turn, wishing there was more he could do – for either of them.
***
"Wait..." Ben interrupted, finding he was only becoming more confused with his father's attempt to explain. "You mean I'm doing all this?"
"Of course you are!" Bob exclaimed. He was suddenly through the ice and lifting the auger free to inspect his handy work. "You don't think any of this is my idea, do you? Although I don't particularly mind the idea of going ice fishing with you. That's something we never had a chance to do when I was alive, did we?"
"Only because you never chose to," Ben rejoined, remembering how it had been his grandfather who taught him the way of it: taught him how to judge the ice and pick a likely spot, how to use the auger and brace and what to do if he fell through the ice... It was his grandfather who'd helped him rig his first pole and set up his first tip-up, taught him how to jig the line and what bait worked best with what fish... It was his grandfather who'd helped him haul in his very first catch and who'd praised him for his patience and diligence, and then who'd taught him how to clean and prepare the meat for cooking or smoking...
But it had been his father Ben had wanted to show off his new skills to on those rare occasions he'd come to visit.
"I'm choosing to now, Son," Bob offered with surprising gentleness.
Then suddenly he was shaking his head and offered Ben an irritated frown, destroying the moment. "Not everything has to make sense, you know. Stop wasting your time trying to figure it out and simply think of this all as a vacation of sorts. A very strange vacation perhaps, but... I already told you, reality is whatever you perceive it to be and we all perceive it differently. The Borderlands are as real as I am, take that for whatever you think it's worth. Though if you're really going to be using that hairy ant lure, I'm afraid we'll be here all day and wind up having chicken for dinner after all."
One of the chickens offered a sharp protest.
"Are you volunteering?" Bob asked. The young rooster immediately fell silent again.
Ben ignored the exchange and glanced down at his hands, realizing he was in the midst of tying a small black lure onto his fishing line. "It's a hackle ant," Ben corrected him off hand, his mind wrestling with the paradox of killing a chicken in the Borderlands given that the chicken was presumably already dead... Of course the same paradox would hold true for the fish too. "...and it's a preferred lure for Thymallus Arcticus because it resembles the black fly. Terrestrial insects form the larger part of their diet."
"Thymous Arctic what-its?" Bob asked in total confusion.
"Thymallus Arcticus," he repeated and glanced up to roll his eyes at his father. How could a man whose job, or a part of it anyway, included checking fish license stamps against a fisherman's catch do that job if he didn't know the various types of fish that were permitted? "Arctic Grayling, Dad," he supplied the more common name.
"Grayling?" Bob scoffed. "When there's Steelhead Trout and Sockeyed Salmon to be had?"
Ben stared at his father for a long moment and then simply shook his head as he turned his attention back to what he was doing. Perhaps his father was right. Perhaps it would be best if he simply looked at this as a vacation from reality.
He glanced up again, staring into the middle distance, as he realized what a very dangerous thought that could be...
Again he shook his head, dismissing such thoughts as just one of the many mysteries of death he really didn't want to explore too closely, especially as he wasn't dead yet! With a frown for his own too inquisitive mind and the vagaries of fate he didn't seem to have any control over, he concentrated on the simple act of lowering his jig into the hole his father had made. Using his foot, he hooked the wooden bucket he'd carried his tackle in and, flipping it over, sank down upon the makeshift stool. His father set the auger aside and took up his own pole, choosing to use live bait rather than a lure. 'Though where he'd managed to dig up meal worms... Ben glanced at his own line and gave it a light jig. His father had brought two poles and was apparently rigging the first as a static line. Ben knew he'd rig a jig for the second pole so as to entice the more aggressive fish... "It's too late in the season for Salmon, Dad," he argued belatedly
Bob offered another mocking chuckle. "Shows what you know about the Borderlands, Son. Grayling. Yuck!" He offered a mock shudder of distaste.
"I happen to like it!" Ben rejoined in surprise.
"Good for you!" Bob answered with the exact same exasperated tone. "You can have any I happen to catch, otherwise I'll just toss 'em back."
Ben shook his head, knowing that if this were indeed all just a product of some feverish delusion, then the mere idea of fishing for Sockeyed Salmon in a landlocked lake let alone under such conditions would have never occurred to him even in his wildest imaginings! With a sigh, he leaned back slightly and happened to glance up at the cloud covered sky through the smoke hole in the middle of the igloo's roof, judging the storm with a practiced eye; and then he realized this wasn't the kind of storm he could judge.
He suddenly frowned. "The wind stopped," he realized.
Bob followed his gaze upward, pausing to listen as well, then nodded grimly. "Decision time," he decided. "Guess the ice fishing will have to wait for another time, Son."
Ben frowned, not sure what to expect. Not that he'd been sure of anything since opening his eyes to a cloud scrubbed sky. "What happens now?" he asked, wondering in a strangely dispassionate way if he were going to live or die, but unable to ask such a question directly. He'd somehow thought the storm itself would be his answer. He'd expected it to break up and disappear if he were to live, or to sweep in with the strength of a hurricane if he were to die...
Bob shrugged and shook his head. "'Haven't got the foggiest, Son," he answered, his breath suddenly pluming in the air between them. A haze seemed to form as well and they both glanced down in sudden confusion only to realize a heavy fog was now pouring into the small igloo from the hole in the ice at their feet, rising quickly to fill the interior. Bob frowned up at Ben as the younger man stood in concern. "Do you always have to be so literal?" he asked him even as the mist continued to rise and swirl, enshrouding and then stealing his form from Ben's view.
"Dad!" Ben called in sharp concern. He stepped forward, suddenly frightened for the first time and not wanting to lose his father.
And then he was falling.
He immediately realized his mistake, knowing he'd stepped directly into the fishing hole his father had created. He threw his hands and arms outward, hoping to catch himself and, if he were lucky, keep from breaking his fool leg. Yet, thick though the ice had been, it was now suddenly too thin to support the weight of his fall. He felt it crack and give beneath him and then he was plunging downward into the icy waters of the lake. He barely caught a breath in time as the freezing depths closed over his head. The water seemed to boil around him as air escaped from his many layers of clothing and rushed upward, even as the weight of the instantly water-logged material dragged him down, pulling him to a watery grave he wasn't ready to accept. He struggled, floundering as he tried to fight his way back to the surface, desperately trying to remember everything he'd ever known about surviving such watery traps.
His hand struck something hard above him and he glanced upward only to realize the hole had closed in over him. Impossible in real life unless he were caught in a current and... But this was the Borderlands. And there was no current here. Pushing down off the ice, he urgently cast about, desperately searching for the hole. He could find no break in the cold, hard surface above him.
He was trapped.
Kicking hard and drawing on every last ounce of strength he had, refusing to give in, he shot upward again, thrusting his fists against that blue-gray ceiling to no avail. Air was forced out of his lungs with the effort and he watched as the bubbles joined those caused by his fall. They danced and shimmered, breaking apart and reforming, then spreading out across that smooth inverted surface. He knew he was going to drown.
The memory of the last time he'd thought he was going to drown flashed through his mind. The icy shock of immersion, the pain and flash of light behind his eyes as his head struck something, fighting to stay conscious even as he felt himself inhaling water, Dief suddenly grabbing his coat and pulling him to the surface, dragging him toward an ice shelf...
There would be no half-wolf to rescue him this time.
It was ironic in a way. He'd been having such difficulty understanding all the symbolism of everything that was happening around him: the storm, the igloo, the chickens... This? This he understood. He almost should have expected it. Images from his memory danced within the shimmering bubbles of trapped air above him. He remembered the chicken pox now, remembered the hospital and being intubated, remembered the isolation room and Meg's visit and seeing himself on the bed as the doctor fought to resuscitate him. Remembered he had pneumonia... Of course he was drowning.
It made perfect sense.
He closed his eyes and let his fear fade away, tasting only regret now as he considered all he hadn't done and would never know. As a police officer, he'd faced death many times before, but he'd never thought something as innocuous as the chicken pox would prove his end. He had no desire to die but obviously the decision had been made and there was no sense in fighting it. He let himself relax and sink into the waters around him. They were no longer cold, but warm and welcoming. Though perhaps that was the effects of hypothermia and not approaching death. Cold water drowning victims could often be revived even after more than an hour under water.
But then, he wasn't really drowning in the lake behind his grandfather's house, so...
His lungs were burning with the need to breathe, yet he continued holding his breath even as he felt his consciousness slipping away, or whatever strange unconscious state he'd actually been in slipping away. He wouldn't be able to hold it much longer.
He opened his eyes one last time, wondering what came next? He was sinking into a pool of dancing light, the shimmering rays at his feet shooting past him to reflect off the trapped air so far over head. Yet he saw those iridescent bubbles quite clearly. His memories were trapped up there. Good. Bad. Happy. Sad.
His vision was beginning to tunnel, the images began to swirl. He felt a deep peace settle upon him... and it frightened him. Not because he feared death or what waited beyond, but because he simply wasn't done living yet!
The images over head suddenly seemed to coalesce into one. It was a picture of himself, lying in the hospital bed hooked up to the ventilator with Ray and Francesca standing beside him. He could see Ray saying something, but the words didn't reach him this time. The image seemed to sharpen in on his sister. She wasn't speaking but he heard her just the same, felt her pain and guilt, the pulse of her strength being willed into him and the pull of her unspoken plea that he should live. He knew she'd blame herself if he died.
That was something he couldn't let happen.
Not yet! his mind suddenly shouted, shattering the peace that surrounded him. Anger answered in its wake, surging through his fading consciousness and granting him a few extra seconds. He was not going to give up! He would not simply accede defeat! He kicked his feet, shooting toward the surface and the barrier there as fast and as hard as he could.
And God smiled...
***
An alarm broke the relative silence of the room causing Frannie to jump half-out of her socks - or stockings, she corrected the thought. "What?" she asked anxiously, immediately looking for the nurse. The older woman with her pastel floral scrubs and elasticized paper hair cap instantly appeared beside them, frowning up at the various squiggles and flashing numbers on the cardiac monitor above his bed even as she reached up to silence the alarm. "What is it?" Frannie asked again. The nurse didn't answer. Instead, she reached out behind his bed and pressed a button on the wall which immediately started flashing red.
The door of the small room flew open to admit a tight-lipped Dr. Stewart still in the process of throwing on a scrub gown. Ray quickly wrapped his arm about Frannie's shoulders and drew her out of the way as the other woman swept forward. "I was just on my way to see you, Mr. Fraser," she offered the room at large. "No need to be so impatient." She was quickly followed by two more nurses. "What's happening?" she demanded of the attending nurse.
"Blood pressure's crashing: 60/45 and falling. He's throwing multiform PVCs."
The doctor frowned up at the cardiac monitor for a long moment and then down at her patient. "What are you up to now, Mr. Fraser? ...Okay, people, check all his leads and connections. Make sure his ET tube hasn't slipped; check the naso-gastric tube, all catheters, peripheral pulses... If he's bleeding, I need to figure out where. And someone draw blood for an immediate CBC." She bent to check his chest tube herself even as the blankets were carefully swept aside leaving him in only the thin hospital gown as the others began a systematic check of his person.
The chest tube checked out: no sign of blood in the collection unit or the urine collection bag, and no sign of clogging either. The doctor shook her head as she straightened to begin palpating his abdomen. "I guess I was too quick in ordering him off the lidocaine." She frowned as she worked. "Hang another bag while I try to figure out his game plan here..."
Frannie stood frozen in her brother's hold as the doctor and nurses went about their jobs with quiet urgency, 'though... the doctor seemed more confused than really alarmed. Frannie couldn't forget the last time she'd tried to visit Benton and he'd nearly died. Not again! her mind screamed silently as she held her hands to her open mouth, afraid to even breathe for fear of interrupting what the doctor was trying to do. She watched as a nurse hurried out with the requested blood sample. Please, dear God, not again...
"Pressure's coming up," someone announced unexpectedly. The entire room glanced up at Ben's cardiac monitor and watched as the numbers changed.
The doctor offered Ben a slightly amused shake of her head. "You just like making my life interesting, don't you?" she asked him rhetorically even as she continued checking his abdomen. The others finished their checks as well and reported their findings. Dr. Stewart straightened and folded her arms as she watched the lidocaine being hung. "Let's try 2 mg per minute and see how he tolerates it. I'd really like to get rid of those stupid PVCs."
One of the nurses suddenly spotted Ray and Frannie off to the side. She started over only to immediately turn back to the bed when another alarm sounded. The doctor frowned and turned to the respirator, hitting a switch to silence the insistent beep. "Relax, Mr. Fraser," she told her patient calmly, "let the machine do its job..." She watched the readouts for a long moment then turned back to Ben with a pensive frown.
The nurse who'd started toward Ray and Frannie was suddenly in front of them. "I'm afraid you're going to have to leave," she told them quietly, directing them to the door.
"Wait." Dr. Stewart's voice was calm but firm. The three stopped and glanced toward her, not sure whom she was addressing. She held up her hand to stay their leaving and turned to issue a few orders to Ben's attending nurse. Then she nodded a dismissal at the others who'd followed her in and they turned to leave. "Come here..." She turned back to Ray and Frannie, gesturing them back to the bedside. "Don't worry," she assured them. "He's fine. I think he likes to play the mystery game. That's when patients like him decide to pull momentary stunts to get our attention but then self-correct before we can figure it out." She shrugged. "He's a cop, I imagine he loves mysteries. I don't think it was anything serious. Pressure's back up; and PVCs are nothing more than a cardiac hic-up. Premature ventricular contractions. Lots of people have them. Nothing at this point to be too worried about. I think he's actually trying to wake up." She nodded encouragingly and gestured again. "Come on ..."
Brother and sister exchanged a confused glance but hesitantly moved forward to join her.
"That second alarm you heard was a pressure limit sensor. He's fighting the vent a bit," she explained. "Which is what makes me think he may be coming around." She stepped aside and physically directed the pair back to Benny's side. "I want you two to talk to him."
"Talk to him?" Ray echoed.
The doctor nodded. "Mr. Fraser?" she called to her patient. "You've got visitors..." Again, she nodded at the pair, then turned to frown down at the respirator.
Frannie was still too shaken by what they'd just witnessed to have any idea of what to say. She watched as her brother swallowed around a dry throat and leaned forward, closer to Benny's ear. "Hey, Benny," Frannie heard him offer. "You want to open your eyes for us, just so we know you're done scaring us?"
Frannie's attention was suddenly drawn to Benton's hand. Had it moved?
"...Look," her brother continued, "I'm going bald already, I don't need you giving me premature gray as well."
Definite movement this time. He even turned his head slightly! Frannie bit her lip to keep a happy cry contained as she moved forward and gently cradled that puffy appendage in her own much smaller hands. A part of her was terrified to do so, terrified of daring to hope; but his color did look better, didn't it? She wasn't just imagining it, was she?
"Hey, Frase..." she dared whisper softly. She lifted the hand and brought it up to her face. It was so cold. She actually thought she felt him shiver! She glanced to the doctor in concern. "Should he be cold?" she asked.
"Probably. Low blood pressure, poor perfusion... It's pretty normal." The doctor nodded and glanced at the nurse. "Let's cover him back up again." She turned back to the ventilator as the covers were gently replaced and the machine delivered another breath. "Keep talking to him..."
The hand Frannie was holding definitely moved!
"Frase?" Frannie repeated. This time her voice was stronger. She gently stroked the cold hand, trying to warm it but remembering that the nurse had said he would bruise very easily because of the excess fluid. And of course she was worried about the pox marks, but they all seemed to be crusted over which was another good sign, she told herself, right?
"Benton?" she tried again, reverting to his personal name. It was a special name, just like him. No one else called him that. And no one else except her Ma called her Francesca. Well, except when someone got mad at her. She dismissed the thought. "Benton, open your eyes," she told him. The eyes beneath the lids moved, but did not open. "...Ray might look good bald and gray, but you don't want to see me like that, do you? ...Benton?"
His hand suddenly tightened on hers as the eyelids fluttered, lifting as with great effort, and the blue-gray depths glanced around in confusion. The machine delivered another breath and Frannie saw fear in his eyes as he automatically fought it.
"No! No!" Frannie told him, holding his hand against her face again even as she reached out to smooth the tangled, sweat-matted hair from off his brow. She felt a happy tear trace down her cheek. She couldn't help but feel this was all a good sign, feel that his waking up meant that he'd be all right! A small part of her was shouting a warning that she was jumping to conclusions. He was still very sick, still on the ventilator, still in ICU... but she couldn't help it. It had to be a good sign! It just had to be! "It's okay!" she promised him. "It's just the ventilator. You've been sick. Remember? But it's okay now. You're going to be okay now." She reached up to wipe the tear away and knew she was grinning like an idiot.
The eyes blinked in confusion again and she knew he wasn't hearing what she said, but at least the fear had receded.
"Hey, Benny," Ray said, leaning over her shoulder into his line of sight. "That anti-viral stuff they're giving you should be kicking in any time now. You just gotta hold on a little longer, okay Buddy? Just a little bit longer."
Dr. Stewart had moved around to the far side of the bed and now took out her stethoscope to listen to his lungs. He tried to lift the hand on that side toward his face and turned his head, but Dr. Stewart intercepted the move even before the restraint brought him up short. He glanced in confusion toward the doctor. "It's all right Mr. Fraser," she assured him calmly. "You're in a hospital. I'm your doctor. Just relax."
He released Frannie's hand and discovered the restraint there as he again tried to reach up to the endotracheal tube.
"What's wrong with him?" Ray asked in alarm even as Frannie claimed his hand again and offered soothing, calming reassurances that had Ben relaxing again and frowning at her with half-glazed eyes.
"He's just a little confused," the doctor assured them. "The various medications he's on will do that. It's to be expected. Just help me keep him calm."
The blue-gray gaze swung back in her direction. "Hi, there," she greeted him with a smile as she swung her stethoscope into place. "Want to initiate a breath for me?"
He seemed to finally understand that he was on a respirator and did as she asked. She listened closely while his lungs expanded and then relaxed again. She listened through another two breaths before removing the ear pieces of the stethoscope and swinging it back around to its customary place draped about her neck. She suddenly paused with a pensive frown and undraped it again. "Gotta remember to sterilize it before I leave," she told herself aloud. She cocked her head at Ben again. "You're doing good, Mr. Fraser," she decided, speaking clearly and calmly. "Very good. Now go back to sleep for me."
Ray and Frannie glanced up at her in confusion.
"I think the Acyclovir is starting to work. His latest blood gases showed definite improvement and his lungs sound a bit better than I was expecting. I just ordered a complete blood chemistry and I'll know more when it comes back, but I'm feeling a bit more optimistic." She turned her attention back to her patient with a smile. "It's still important you rest, though. It's going to take your body a little while to realize you're getting better. The best thing you can do for yourself right now is sleep."
"But then, why..." Frannie frowned in confusion. "I mean..."
"I wanted to make sure he was coming out of the coma, Frannie," the doctor answered and again glanced at Ben. "Besides, a little positive reassurance from your friends is always a good thing. Hang in there, Mr. Fraser, we'll have you back home in a week."
"A week?" Ray echoed in disbelief as he followed her toward the door. "You're kidding me!"
Frannie ignored them and stepped forward to gently take up Benton's hand again. She'd seen the increased confusion in his eyes as he heard the doctor mention a coma. "Just go back to sleep, Benton," she told him gently. "We'll be here when you wake up. Just no more scaring us, okay?"
She saw him struggling to understand, but also saw that he was very tired. After a few more moments, he gave up the effort and dismissed his questions for another time. The blue-gray eyes closed with a little more prompting and the body relaxed while she continued to gently hold his hand. Frannie knew he still had a long road ahead to full recovery, but she also knew in her heart of hearts that the real danger was finally over. Silently, she bowed her head thanking God for answering all their prayers.
***
Epilogue
He let the water run over the razor, rinsing it clean, then shook it dry as he closed the faucet once more. Ignoring the tremor that gripped his fingers, he set the implement aside and reached for a hand towel. The white terry cloth made quick work of the last traces of shaving crème. A pale, gaunt face stared back at him from the hospital mirror. The pox marks were quickly fading to nothing and, while he'd enjoyed being able to shave at last, it made little difference in his appearance. He never had been able to grow a decent beard... Obviously, he'd lost weight. He didn't know how much but it was plainly visible in the face before him. The eyes were sunken with slight but noticeable circles under their pale depths and the cheeks were too prominent.
He frowned at his hair. At least that hadn't changed, though it was a bit longer than he normally liked. He reached up and tried to pat a couple of damps tendrils back into place but they were being as rebellious as he felt.
Ben was not happy. He should be ecstatic, he knew. Eight days in hospital and he was finally being released.
But he wasn't going home.
He sighed and bowed his head, leaning against the hospital sink. He'd had quite enough molly-coddling over the last week to last him a lifetime! He was perfectly capable of returning to his small apartment and looking after himself and Diefenbaker. After all, the doctor had cleared him to return to light duty starting Monday. But 'Ma' had spoken; and, much to his dismay, Inspector Thatcher had concurred! Ray would be here shortly to take him back to the Vecchio house. Once there, he would not be released until Mrs. Vecchio approved and that included returning to work despite his doctor's okay.
Straightening, he frowned at the mirror again. He was not a good patient and he knew it. This wasn't like when Ray had shot him in the back. He'd been seriously injured then and had to go through two months of physical rehabilitation. This... So, all right, he'd learned the hard way that chicken pox wasn't something to be taken lightly. He'd nearly died. However, he was now well on the road to recovery. Despite his tendency to tire easily and his obvious physical weakness, he didn't feel particularly bad. All he needed was a little exercise, some hearty food and some fresh air. Lying around in bed while others waited on him hand and foot was not something he enjoyed. But apparently it was something he was going to have to endure. There would be no getting around it. Arguing with Ray was one thing. The idea of challenging the combined authority of Inspector Thatcher and Mrs. Vecchio was... beyond comprehension! He'd go so far as to call it foolhardy!
But, then, he'd been called worse things before. His arguments had fallen on deaf ears.
He gathered up his shaving kit, what little of it he had, and moved back to the bed where he'd already packed his few personal belongings into a plastic hospital bag and tall cardboard box one of the nurses was kind enough to provide. The majority of the flowers had been donated to the geriatric wing and the stuffed animals had gone to pediatrics. One bouquet remained, intended for Mrs. Vecchio. He'd spent the morning filling out paperwork, then showered and changed, brushed his teeth and shaved. All that remained now was to await his ride.
With a shake of his head, he moved to the box and tossed his kit on top. Grasping it firmly with the intent to move it, he was startled to hear Francesca yell at him.
"And just what do you think you're doing, Benton Fraser?" she demanded firmly. He turned to see the petite brunette, passion-red lipstick, tight pink crop-top, bare mid-drift, leather mini-skirt, hands on hips, framed in the hospital doorway... glaring at him.
He relaxed slightly when he caught sight of her brother behind her... until he saw the same censorious glare on his face.
Ben frowned in confusion as the pair hurried forward. "I'm just... just--"
"--Exerting yourself!" Frannie interjected, slapping his hands away from the box.
"--Packing," he corrected her.
Ray ignored them both, sweeping in to transfer the offending container to a spot beside the visitor's chair. "This thing weighs a ton!" he exclaimed, peering down into it in surprise. "What you got in here? The kitchen sink?"
"Books, Ray," he answered with a soft, irritated sigh for the obvious exaggeration. "Turnbull was thoughtful enough to lend me several of his treasured works by Louis L'Amour while I was recovering."
"Good thing this is a strong box or they'd be all over the floor! And you thought you were going to lift this?"
"It's just a box, Ray."
"Yeah, well it definitely weighs more than ten pounds," the other man rejoined, reminding him of doctor's orders.
Ben rolled his eyes. He thought the doctor's orders were a bit ridiculous.
Frannie suddenly surprised him, having snuck close while his attention was on Ray. She grabbed his shoulders and, using his own natural instinct to step away against him, lightly shoved him back upon his bed. "Sit!" she ordered after the fact.
He frowned sharply up at both of them. "I am not an invalid," he informed them firmly.
"Yes, you are!" Frannie corrected him sharply. "You've still got that peri...card... deckium stuff, and you know you're not supposed to be doing anything like that!" She waved a hand at the box.
"Pericarditis," he corrected her patiently. "It's an infection of the pericardium, or the heart sac, secondary to the chicken pox, much as the pneumonia was, and very mild. I'm recovering from it as I am everything else. My body simply needs time to reabsorb the excess fluids there. I'm doing quite well, Francesca, thank you kindly. My doctor has cleared me to return to light duty."
Frannie rolled her eyes and offered a scoffing sound. "You're doctor doesn't know you very well, does she, Frase? I don't think you know what 'light duty' is!"
"Which is precisely why Thatcher agreed to leave 'that' decision up to Ma," Ray offered with a knowing grin. Benny was going nowhere until he was a lot stronger than he was presently. The grin became a slight frown as he gazed at his friend. It wasn't hard to detect the poor man's dissatisfaction with everything. He was really quite upset, even if he refused to raise his voice or attempt another argument that would get him nowhere. It was also quite clear that he was tired already when all he'd done was get ready and pack!
"You just got over the chicken pox, Fraser!" Frannie continued more gently. It seemed somehow strange that the common childhood ailment had gone from being 'just chicken pox' to 'chicken pox!' in only two short weeks, ' though both men had to admit that their views concerning the disease had undergone a radical change as well. "I'm sorry!" she suddenly blurted, surprising both men. "I should have known something was wrong. I should have gotten you to the hospital sooner. None of this would have happened if I... if I--"
"--Francesca," Ben quickly interrupted her and shook his head in confusion. She bit her lip and glanced up, looking like she was about to cry: A terrifying sight for any man! "Francesca," he repeated quickly, hoping to forestall the tears, "there's nothing to be sorry about. You did nothing wrong."
She looked up and away, fighting her tears, but the guilt was something she wouldn't let go.
"Come here you silly goose," Ray offered, wrapping his arms around her and giving her a much needed hug. "Now, what's all this nonsense? We've been through this before. Ma said the Doc already talked to you and told you it wasn't anybody's fault. These things happen."
"I know. But... but--"
"But what? You think because you were making googly eyes at him you missed something?" Ray suggested, knowing her far too well. She shot Ben an embarrassed look and he glanced away, granting her at least a small semblance of privacy. "What about Ma?" Ray continued. "She nursed all us kids through the chicken pox as we were growing up. And two out of three grand kids. Don't you think that if anyone shoulda caught on to how serious things were, it would have been Ma? Unless, of course, you think Ma was making googly eyes at him too?" He awarded Benny's startled look a wink.
Ben bit back a smile and ducked his head again as Frannie exclaimed, "Ray!"
"What?" he asked innocently. "You don't think Ma can't notice a handsome man?"
Frannie rolled her eyes. "Don't be crazy."
"It's no more crazy than you beating yourself up over Benny winding up in the hospital!" Ray exclaimed. "She knows more about taking care of the people she loves than you and I combined, but it was you who told me to call the ambulance. So, either you weren't as distracted by Fraser here as much as you want to think you were, or Ma's got a secret crush on the poor guy. Which is it?"
"All right! All right!" Frannie relented, shaking her head. She was beat and knew it. She couldn't blame herself and not blame her mother as well, so that meant that everything everyone had been telling her was true after all. It wasn't her fault. It was no one's fault. "You made your point."
"Did I?" Ray asked, frowning at her face closely as he tried to read her expression. "Cause I know you're not an idiot but you're sounding like one. You might be a ditz maybe, but--"
Frannie gave him a pained expression and mock punch to his shoulder. "Enough!" she declared. "Get outta here and make yourself useful already. Go find a nurse with a wheelchair so we can breeze this joint."
Ray winced. "Blow this joint, Frannie."
"Blow... breeze... fly away on the wind!" She lifted her hands in exasperation. "You know what I mean!"
"Fine!" Ray capitulated. "Fine I'll go fetch Fraser's Chariot. You sit on him and make sure he doesn't move." Frannie glanced after her brother in mild surprise and then shook her head, dismissing the thought that sprang instantly to mind. It took Ray another moment to realize what he'd said. "Not literally!" he shouted back over his shoulder as he disappeared out the door.
"Party pooper," she murmured, but her heart wasn't in it. She glanced at Fraser and felt a smile tug at her lips as he awarded her the 'Mountie caught in the headlights' look. She managed to give him a wink before she turned away looking for a place to sit. With a sigh, she moved the hospital bag with his bath robe and other stuff off the visitor's chair and plopped herself down to wait with him. She sighed again and frowned down at her hands. Why was it so hard for her to accept Ray and Ma and the Doc's words? She still felt guilty... She glanced back up and realized that Fraser was still staring at her. "Relax, Fraser," she sighed, glancing down again. "I won't bite. I promise." She wondered if she'd have the guts to really flirt with him ever again!
"Unless I want you too."
She glanced up in surprise and was awarded a wink of her own before his face again assumed that incredible deadpan look that only he could manage. She stared at him for a long moment in confused amazement. Had he... Was he... For a moment she wondered if she'd actually seen the wink at all! And then she finally caught a faint glint of laughter lurking in his eyes and knew he was teasing her. Hard to believe perhaps, but...
He was playing, she realized. He actually liked her flirting! Or... at least he'd learned to tolerate it. He might not be willing to return her attentions but they no longer frightened him. She grinned and turned away, contemplating possibilites...
...And Fraser smiled a secret smile. She was no longer blaming herself for everything, and that was important to him. He still had a lot of healing to do, and was not looking forward to the next few weeks as he fought to regain his freedom as well as his health, but his world - as well as his body - was apparently back on the mend again.
Ray reappeared with a chair and nurse in tow, breezing forward with a jovial strut. "Okay, Fraser, plant your caboose here and let's get this show on the road. That wolf of yours refused to wait for you at home and I'm very much afraid he's gonna to tear out my throat, or at least the upholstery in the Riv, if we don't get you downstairs pronto. You're paying for any damages you know."
Yes, he thought contentedly as he forced himself to accept the mandatory wheelchair and then listened to Ray and Frannie arguing about what to do with the box, finally putting it in his lap for the ride downstairs, everything was back to normal.
***
The End
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I am not a doctor nor medical professional of any kind: nothing presented in the preceeding story should be viewed as medical advice! This story is a work of fiction - yet the possibilities presented in it are real. If you are an adult and have never had the chicken pox, please consider speaking to a medical professional about the benefits and dangers of getting vaccinated.
Thank you kindly for reading. :-)
Return to the Ride Forever Archive
Return to Janice