Chapter Four
Jumping at the slight touch on his shoulder, Jim looked up into the warm brown eyes of the ICU nurse.
"Sorry," she said kindly. "Didn’t mean to wake you. I thought you could do with a fresh cup of coffee."
"Thanks. You didn’t wake me. I must have been daydreaming."
In fact, he’d turned his hearing down to just above zero. The noise of the monitors and ventilator were drowning out Blair’s own heartbeat, and he’d almost zoned out twice trying to find it.
He reached forward for the coffee cup and took a grateful sip of the steaming brew, watching the nurse’s skilled ministrations as he did so. As always, his gaze quickly returned to Blair’s face.
The endotracheal tube partly obscured Jim’s view, but the detective could still see the ghastly pallor of Blair’s skin, overlaid with a fine sheen of perspiration from the fever that had begun to ravage the anthropologist’s body.
He averted his eyes as Lucy, the nurse, suctioned out Blair’s tube to rid him of the congesting secretions welling up from his infected lungs. He fumbled with the dials to turn down his hearing again, so he did not have to listen to the awful wet slurping of the suction machine.
*Two days, * Jim thought. *Is that all it’s been? Two days? * It felt like a lifetime. Yawning mightily, he shifted in the chair, then leaned forward to brush a strand of hair from Blair’s face. The young man’s skin felt somewhat cooler, and Jim looked questioningly up at the nurse. "Lucy?"
Lucy nodded and smiled at the weary detective. "Finally, some good news, Jim. His fever’s broken."
0~0~0~0~0
The raucous screaming finally penetrated Jim's sleep-numbed brain and he shot up in his chair, his eyes frantically scanning his surroundings before he remembered where he was.
He stood as he realized Blair's monitors were sounding loudly in chorus. Turning to check the unconscious man, Jim could see that Blair's chest was ominously still. Rushing footsteps neared, then the door burst open and the room was suddenly crowded with people and more equipment.
Jim stumbled back toward the wall as Blair's doctor leaned over the unresponsive body and pressed a stethoscope to Blair's chest. The heart monitor stuttered slightly and Jim closed his eyes, dialing his hearing back up to better hear Blair's fluttering heartbeat. The doctors barked orders as the nurses read out an array of medical jargon, and then the suction machine started up again.
A sudden silence descended as the medical staff stopped and watched with bated breath, and then the monitors started up again, their frantic bells replaced now by welcome, regular beeps. Jim jumped as a hand touched his arm, and he opened his eyes to see Doctor Parry's kindly face staring at him with concern.
"Jim? You all right?"
Jim huffed out a breath and nodded, though his legs felt as though they were about to collapse. The doctor regarded him a moment longer before continuing.
"Blair's fine. The endotracheal tube got blocked. It happens sometimes."
"He's all right?" Jim stared at the doctor then over at Blair.
"He's going to be just fine."
The doctor's voice suddenly seemed to be coming from down a long tunnel and Jim felt himself slide down the wall. Doctor Parry followed him down, and Jim's last conscious sight was of the good doctor's surprised face.
0~0~0~0~0
"Exhaustion." Simon Banks crossed his arms over his chest and gave his detective a smug 'I told you so' smile. "What do you expect? You've been camped out here at Sandburg's side for almost a week. God knows when you last ate decent food or slept the night through."
Jim struggled to sit up on the gurney, closing his eyes against the dizziness that threatened once more. "I'll sleep when they wake Blair up from his coma and I can see for myself that he's okay," he answered stubbornly.
Simon shook his head and handed the detective his clothes. "You'll sleep tonight. Doctor's orders. Home, a meal, and a night's sleep. He won't let you back in to see Blair until tomorrow morning."
"Come on, Simon," Jim wheedled. "Talk to him." He lowered himself gingerly to the floor and pulled on his trousers. "I promise to go to the cafeteria for dinner tonight, all right?"
Simon held the door open for Jim to shuffle through. "Go say good night to the kid, Jim. I'll wait for you here." He hardened his heart against the pleading look on Jim's face and sank down into a chair to wait for the detective to return.
0~0~0~0~0
"So, I'll be back tomorrow morning, Chief. Be good for the nurses, huh?" With a final look, Jim walked to the door and pushed it open. Simon steered him toward his own car in the parking lot, insisting that he'd arrive bright and early the following morning to drive him back to the hospital.
He drifted off to sleep before they'd cleared the parking lot and knew nothing more until a gentle but persistent shaking disturbed his bottomless slumber. "What?"
He batted irritably at the hand on his arm and flopped over to his back. Opening gritty eyelids, he focused blearily on the dark interior roof of Simon's car and cracked a jaw-breaking yawn. Rocking his head back and forth to loosen already stiff neck muscles, Jim smiled at his captain.
"Thanks, Simon," he muttered around another yawn. "You want to come up for a beer?"
"No, thanks. I've got to pick Daryl up from his mother's. He's staying with me for the weekend."
Jim nodded. "Okay. Tell him I said hi."
"Uh, Jim?"
"Hmm, yeah?"
"You're home. You want to get out of the car?"
"Oh, right. Okay." He levered himself upright with some difficulty and fumbled for the door handle.
"I think you should bypass the beer tonight too, Jim. Get some decent food in you and go to bed."
"Yeah, good advice, Simon. I'll see you in the morning." With a wave of his hand, Jim trudged wearily into the building. He almost drifted off to sleep again on the slow ascent, but woke with a start when the elevator bumped to a stop and deposited him on the third floor.
A cursory look inside the refrigerator revealed a wrinkled apple, two carrots and something that was possibly one of Sandburg's famous mold experiments and Jim dialed down his sense of smell as he deposited it down the garbage disposal.
The loft seemed chilly and silent even with the television and fire turned on, and Jim wandered aimlessly for a few minutes, returning unerringly time and again to Blair's doorway to gaze at the empty bed.
Scrubbing a hand through his hair, Jim phoned for a pizza, then showered while he waited for it to be delivered. Seated on the sofa, he thought how pleased he should be to have the place to himself. No Discovery channel, no lectures about his fatty arteries, no endless Sandburg prattle drowning out the game on TV. He chewed listlessly on a second rubbery pizza crust, then tossed the lot into the waste-basket and climbed the stairs to his bed. He didn't even remember his head hitting the pillow.
0~0~0~0~0
There was no change in Blair's condition by the time Jim arrived back at the hospital the following day and although he was relieved to know his partner was no worse, Jim still felt an inexplicable disappointment tighten his throat. He knew Blair was heavily sedated, knew he would only be terribly afraid by not being able to draw a breath or move if he were awake but deep down, Jim yearned for just the slightest glimmer of awareness that would reassure him that Blair was on his way back.
Giving the monitors a quick knowledgeable glance, Jim lowered himself into the chair at Blair's bedside and pulled a paperback novel from his jacket pocket. With his ears tuned in to the rhythmic beeps of the heart monitor, and one hand curled around Blair's, Jim lost himself in the adventures of Jack Ryan, CIA agent.
He was disturbed when raised angry voices intruded on his reverie. Standing, Jim placed his book on the chair, then moved toward the door with the thought in mind that his assistance might be needed. He stumbled back, startled, as the door to the ICU slammed open and Naomi rushed into the room.
"Where's my son? You have no right to…" Her voice trailed off and tears instantly filled her eyes and trailed down her cheeks as she saw the silent figure of her son. "Oh, God. Blair."
Stepping up to the bedside, she picked up a lax hand and brought it to her lips, kissing it gently before laying it against her cheek. "Oh, Blair sweetie, what have they done to you?"
"Naomi?" When she didn't react to his voice, Jim moved up beside her and touched a hand to her shoulder, surprised when she shrugged it off and turned her head toward him, her eyes full of anger.
"Look what you've done," she whispered harshly. "You promised you'd look after him."
Jim felt tears sting his own eyes as she collapsed into the chair and began to sob. "I'm sorry," he rasped. "I didn't mean for this to happen."
Naomi's green eyes flashed as she glared at him. "It wasn't enough you let some maniac drown him, you had to bring him back to suffer through this? You should have let him go."
Jim's eyes widened in shock. "What? You think he shouldn't have been resuscitated?"
"He'd been gone for too long, Blair told me. The doctors were amazed there was no brain damage, yet all the time, this was festering inside him."
"He's going to get better." Jim looked toward the door as it opened and Doctor Parry stepped silently into the room. "This is Doctor Parry, Blair's doctor. He can explain everything."
Naomi pushed herself to her feet, pointedly ignoring the doctor's outstretched hand. "I want Blair off these machines. He wouldn't have wanted to be kept alive this way."
"Ms. Sandburg, I think we need to talk. The situation isn't as dire as you think. Blair's condition is still critical, but I believe he will fully recover. At the moment, he's heavily sedated."
"So, you're saying that if he were awake right now, he could breathe without these machines?"
"Guillian-Barre causes an ascending paralysis," Doctor Parry said. "It is true that at the moment, Blair is unable to breathe for himself or indeed to move at all. His brain function, however, has not been compromised, and his chances of a full recovery are high."
"So that he can sit in a wheelchair for the rest of his life?"
"It won't come to that," Jim put in.
"How can you be so sure?"
"Because I know Blair."
Naomi shook her head defiantly. "I know my son. I know what my son would want."
"Actually, you don't," Jim said softly. "When Blair applied for his ride-along with me, certain papers had to be filled out, insurance and so forth. We discussed something like this happening. I needed him to know what he was getting into. I hold Blair's power of attorney and he holds mine."
Jim stepped back to the bed and looked down at the unconscious man. "Blair's states that no extraordinary measures are to be taken to prolong his life. On consultation with the experts in the field, Doctor Parry being one, I don't consider that to be the case here. Until such time as Doctor Parry tells me there is no hope of recovery, Blair stays on the machines."
"You're condemning his soul," Naomi whispered.
"He's not going to die," Jim stated firmly.
Naomi turned back to the bed; one slender hand reaching out to tenderly brush Blair's freshly shaved cheek. "I'd like to spend some time with my son. Alone." She gave Jim a brief sideways glance. "Perhaps while you're waiting, you could find the legal piece of paper that gives you precedence over his mother."
"You can sit with Blair for as long as you like," Doctor Parry said softly. "If there's anything you need to know, please have me paged."
The doctor ushered a reluctant Jim from the room and closed the door behind him. He laid a reassuring hand on Jim's shoulder as he steered him out to the nurses' station. "She'll come around, Jim. She's frightened and concerned for her son."
Jim punched a fist lightly on the desk. "What if she doesn't?"
"The paperwork is completely legal and binding, and given the circumstances of Blair's illness, she'd have no hope at all of securing a release in a court of law. Why don't you take the opportunity to go home and have a decent meal? Come back in a couple of hours."
Jim nodded and headed for the exit. Sitting in his truck, he hesitated as he reached forward to turn on the ignition. Leaning forward wearily, he rested his head on the steering wheel and dialed up his hearing, listening unashamedly as a tearful Naomi begged her son to prove he was still there.
Two hours later, Jim could wait no longer. At the nurses' station on Blair's floor, he asked the nurse to page Doctor Parry and have him meet them in Blair's room.
"There's no need," Naomi said from Blair's doorway as the nurse picked up the phone. "I've spoken to Charlie Spring. He tells me to give you a week."
Jim smiled and nodded, even as the lump in his throat threatened to choke him. Naomi's next words, however, gave him no solace.
"If Blair's still on the ventilator then, I will fight for his rights in court."
"Blair's rights, Naomi? Or yours?"
Naomi didn't answer, sweeping past him in a perfumed rush. "I'm going on retreat, to meditate. I'll be back in a week, Jim. The doctor has my number should anything happen before then."