Game Changer - Chapter 32/35
Category: Slash - Dan (Ashcroft) & Jones
Rating: M
Summary: As the surgery approaches it's all Dan can do to try and keep hope alive
Warnings: swearing, medical descriptions, highly emotional dialogue, death mention, mild sexuality
Word count: 3493
“It’s called hepatic encephalopathy,” Doctor Wallace explains. “It is, of course, a physical ailment, the primary causes being elevated ammonia levels and amino acid imbalances in the body as a result of the liver not functioning properly to remove the harmful substances. However, the most noticeable symptoms are altered mental state and behavioural changes.”
Dan sits with his hands palm to palm between his knees and Bruce sits beside him, one hand over his mouth, the other gripping the back of Dan’s chair. Lynn had given him a brief overview of what HE is almost a week ago now, but since then Jones has done even more testing to confirm the diagnosis. Dan feels guilty for not having told Bruce already, but he never figured out the right words to say and eventually decided to just let the doctors explain.
“Some people experience hepatic encephalopathy in bouts for months or even years, but in patients with acute liver failure, like Mr. Jones, it is more common to be seen much more frequently or consistently,” she continues matter-of-factly. “That being said; however, it is a very serious condition and in severe cases can be life threatening.”
“So, what do we do?” Dan asks.
“Well, there are medications designed to absorb ammonia from the body so that it may not build up, such as lactulose, which he has been taking-”
“But then how has he gotten this sick?” Dan demands.
“Firstly, Mr. Ashcroft, it is much harder to control these things in acute liver failure because the function of the liver deteriorates so rapidly,” she explains. “What happens when the liver stops functioning properly is that pressure grows stronger in the portal vein, which can lead to gastrointestinal bleeding. GI bleeds are precipitating factors of encephalopathy, especially if a bleed takes place in and around the intestines, where ammonia is located.”
“So that’s what caused it?” Bruce asks. “The bleeding he had?”
“It is very possible,” Doctor Wallace nods. “His diet is being adjusted, as are his medications, and we may have to consider doing some dialysis to try and remove some of the toxins in his blood. The more toxins there are in the blood, the more are able to build up in the brain, which is why you may notice forgetfulness, confusion, an inability to do simple mental tasks like addition and subtraction, mood swings, fatigue, tremors, sullenness or bouts of anger, etcetera. Diagnosis is difficult because often in the early stages only close family or friends are able to notice the changes.”
“But you have diagnosed him, right?” Dan frowns. “I mean, you are sure this is what he’s got?”
“Yes, the tremor in his hands is a diagnostic property we notice in patients with encephalopathy,” she confirms. “However, what I would like you both to help with is identifying the stage of progression of the condition that Mr. Jones is likely to be experiencing. I’d like for you both to take a look at the sheet in front of you and place an ‘x’ beside the symptoms you have noticed.”
“Of course,” Bruce mutters, pushing his glasses up his nose and producing a biro from his breast pocket.
Dan’s heartrate doubles at the number of ‘x’s on the page between the two of them. He swallows hard, his throat feeling painfully dry all of a sudden.
“These, um,” he starts, almost certain that his voice is going to fail him. “These- are these, er, they’re going to go away after the surgery, right?”
“It’s hard to say,” she says slowly. “Overall, yes, the majority of symptoms are likely to diminish. However, swelling in the brain is not to be taken lightly. He may still demonstrate some neurological difficulties, memory loss or forgetfulness.”
Dan buries his face in his hands and lets Bruce finish filling out the paper and slide it back across the desk to Doctor Wallace. She peers over them for a minute, her glasses perched at the end of her nose, before she tells them they can go and see Jones. They don’t talk on the way to his room, but there’s a kind of unspoken understanding and mutual sympathy between them.
“Jones?” Dan calls quietly as he opens the door, expecting him to be asleep. “Jones are you- what the-?”
He’s stood by the bedside table, rifling through the drawers and tossing objects over his shoulders. The bedding hangs over the sides and end of the bed, untucked in various places, and the pillows are scattered across the room, some with and some without their cases. Dan bends down to pick up his iPod so it won’t be stepped on, hanging it around the back of his neck by the headphones, and takes a step towards Jones.
“Jones,” he asks softly. “What are you doing, Jones?”
“I can’t find it,” he declares and continues pulling things out of the drawer and discarding them.
“Jones, just- just calm down for a minute, okay?” Dan says as he approaches him. “Me and your dad are here, maybe we can help you.”
He pauses for a moment and turns to Dan, “I don’t know where it is.”
“Okay-” Dan starts to say.
“I’ve looked everywhere,” Jones insists. “It’s got to be somewhere in here, I just can’t remember where I put it.”
“Have you asked Lynn at all?” he suggests. “She’s probably the only person who’d move anything in here.”
“No, I haven’t asked her,” Jones mutters. “I just don’t understand where it could’ve gone.”
“Where what could’ve gone, Graham?” Bruce asks, coming up to Dan’s side.
Jones turns back to the drawer, “I don’t know.”
“You-” Dan says in confusion. “You don’t know what you’re looking for?”
“No,” sighs Jones with the air of explaining something very simple to an unintelligent child. “I don’t know what I’m looking for right now, but I’ll know when I find it.”
“Oh,” Dan nods slowly, still confused. “Alright.”
“How will you know when you find it?” Bruce asks.
“Because then I’ll have found it, so I’ll know,” he says again. “I’ll know it when I see it.”
“Graham, you’re not making any sense, son,” Bruce replies. “Why don’t you work on figuring out what you’re looking for first, and then we can track it down later.”
“You don’t need to know what you’re looking for to find it, dad,” Jones says with exasperation.
“I think you do-” he argues.
“You just look and then when you find it, you go, ‘Oh look, here it is, I’ve found it. This is what I was looking for.’ Y’know?” Jones continues, not taking notice of Bruce’s interjection.
“Well, I guess we can’t really help you look then,” Dan cuts in to disperse the tension. “Because we won’t know if we find it, will we?”
“No,” Jones considers, pausing again. “I guess you wouldn’t.”
“Can I do anything else for you, then?” he asks, stroking Jones’s hair.
Jones suddenly looks shy and a bit embarrassed, “Could you, um-?”
He gestures towards the ransacked bed and Dan nods with a soft smile. He gives Jones a soft kiss on the forehead and makes his way to the hospital bed, picking up the discarded pillows and cases as he goes. Jones continues to scatter various objects and papers from inside the drawer, the blue crayon he’d kept breaking in half as it hits the tiled floor.
Bruce joins Dan as he tries to tidy up the bed, stuffing untucked sheets under the mattress and down beside the bedrails. The end result looks incredibly sloppy compared to the crisp corners the nurses somehow achieve every time, but Dan’s done the best job he can. Bruce slips the cases back onto the pillows they’d been taken off and piles them up at the end of the bed.
“I’ll just look for it later,” Jones says with a wide yawn almost immediately after they finish. “I’m going to have a little sleep now.”
Dan helps him climb into the bed and get comfortable, slipping the headphones from around his neck over Jones’s ears and finding the sleep playlist. Jones smiles drowsily at him as he hits the play button.
“Is that volume alright?” Dan asks and Jones nods, closing his eyes.
Dan slides the iPod onto the bedside tables and strokes Jones’s cheek lightly with his thumb. He’s sound asleep within minutes, and Dan goes around the room to collect the scattered contents of his drawers.
“Dan, really, I can’t thank you enough,” Bruce says almost mournfully. “He’s so lucky to have you.”
Dan shakes his head, “It’s fine.”
“I know,” he replies with a weak smile. “I know you love him a lot, Dan, but I really can’t even explain how grateful I am to you.”
“You, erm, you don’t mind the article for The Weekend, do you?” Dan asks timidly, tapping a pile of papers on the table to line them up.
“No, no of course not,” he says, shaking his head as he picks up the box of playing cards from the floor. “I mean, I’m sure I’m involved to a certain extent, but really it’s between you and Graham. I’m glad that you can do this to keep on with work. It’d be a shame if your work suffered as a result of this whole ordeal, so it’s really wonderful that the editor has found a way for you to remain productive.”
Dan just nods, not sure what to say as he deposits the broken crayon into the drawer carefully, as if it were a wounded animal.
“Dan,” Bruce starts, his tone deeper and somehow softer. “I don’t think he would have even made it this far without you.”
His throat feels tight and he can’t bring himself to look at Bruce. He shakes his head feebly as he strokes the crayon’s paper wrapper, trying to hold himself together. There’s a sinking feeling in the pit of Dan’s stomach and he’s not sure he wants to hear what Bruce is about to say.
“Believe me Dan,” he sighs. “I know that right now you don’t want to even consider it, but there’s still a possibility that he’s not going to make it.”
Dan shakes his head more forcefully, still refusing to look up.
“And even if he does there’s still a chance that the damage is irreversible, Doctor Wallace said it herself,” there’s a long pause before he continues. “He could end up with a physical disability, which would be hard enough, but worse than that he could come out of this with serious brain damage. I have no idea what kind of problems he could or is going to have. I don’t know how severe this memory loss is, or how bad it could get in the next week and a half.”
Dan chances a glance at Bruce out of the corner of his eye. He’s stood at the end of the bed, gripping the bars in both hands and looking down at Jones’s sleeping face.
“What I mean to say is that it’s incredibly hard to care for someone with the mental disabilities that Graham could end up with,” he says heavily. “It’s hard financially, it’s hard physically, and it’s hard emotionally. He may not be the same person you’ve known all these years, and he could become your patient instead of your partner.”
Dan finally looks him in the face, his meaning starting to become clearer, “What are you trying to say?”
“That I’m giving you an out,” he manages. “I’m his father and he’s my responsibility. The moment you become a parent you sign on for everything and anything, but this isn’t something you signed up for, Dan. I’m saying that it’s okay for you to walk away. I certainly won’t think any less of you; there’s no shame in it.”
“No,” Dan says, shaking his head.
“I know you love him, Dan,” Bruce says, his voice strained with emotion. “But I really want you to think about yourself as well. You have to do what’s best for you, I wouldn’t want to see your devotion to Graham hold you back or limit you.”
Dan takes a deep breath. He’s taken aback by everything Bruce is saying, but mostly he’s shaken by the genuine concern he has for Dan’s wellbeing.
“Bruce,” he says as evenly as he can. “I’m touched that you care about me in all this, and I may not know what it’s like to be a parent, but I do know what it’s like to make it your only goal to protect and take full responsibility for a child. And with that said, I can tell you that I am prepared to make those same promises, those same sacrifices for Jones that I did for Claire. And the sacrifices? They aren’t really sacrifices when you love someone that much, you know that.”
Bruce nods, a few tears spilling over from his watery eyes.
“Jones has stuck by me and supported me through the demons I had to fight,” Dan continues. “And I’m going to stick by him no matter what. It’s not some grandiose or heroic act, I am thinking about myself. I need him. I need to be with him, I can’t survive in this world without him, he’s the only thing that’s been keeping me from giving up all these years. Now, it may have taken us both a stupidly long time to realise that-”
They both laugh throatily through tight throats and tear streaked faces.
“But I need him, and I’d choose a hard life with him over an easy life alone every time,” Dan declares. “He’s going to make it. He’s got to.”
Before he has time to realise what’s happening, Bruce’s arms are around him, hugging him tightly as Dan sobs. Even though Dan’s almost a foot taller than him in his boots, Dan feels vulnerable and fragile, but Bruce’s embrace is protective and comforting. He’s scared his sobbing will wake Jones, but he can’t seem to do anything to control it. To his relief Jones continues to sleep soundly until Dan wakes him to say goodbye for the night several hours later.
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They never did end up figuring out what Jones was looking for, and no one reminded Jones of his aimless search. Although, he did seem to remember some details when he expressed his disappointment to Dan about breaking the crayon. Dan promised him he’d get him a whole new box, but he can’t manage much because of his hands anyway.
“I’m telling you Jones, it was so weird,” Dan insists. “It’s a pointless holiday anyway.”
“I’m sure there’s some reason for it,” Jones replies blearily.
“The reason’s to get shitfaced,” he says cynically. “You don’t even get the day off work, that’s how you know it’s a crap holiday.”
“D’you at least have a little bit ‘f fun?” Jones asks with a yawn.
“Not really,” he frowns. “Drunk people are such twats. You really notice how obnoxious people get when they’re drunk if you’re totally sober.”
“Wul nex year you c’n ge’ off yer face, kay?” Jones mumbles.
“Hey, you’re not supposed to sleep yet, Lynn told me to keep you awake,” Dan says giving his leg a shake.
“’m fine,” he mutters. “’m not ‘sleep.”
“I saw Danni’s tits,” Dan grins cheekily.
“What?” Jones asks, his eyes opening wider.
Dan laughs mischievously, “She was wearing this really see through top that said ‘Kiss me I’m Irish’ on it-”
“That dsn’t count,” Jones scoffs.
“Let me finish,” he argues. “And this bloke spilled his beer everywhere, so it got all wet and everything-”
“No, st’ll dsn’t count,” Jones shakes his head.
“-and so she just took it off.”
“’n th’ middle ‘f th’ pub?” Jones asks in disbelief.
“Yep,” Dan smirks. “And she had those sticker things on them that were all sparkly and in the shape of shamrocks.”
“What’ver,” Jones huffs goodnaturedly. “Pri-ee nisso yeah?”
“What?” Dan asks, leaning closer to him.
“’Er tiz,” he replies. “Pree nize.”
“Yeah, they’re pretty nice,” Dan laughs. “Are you okay? You’re all slurring your words.”
“’m fine,” he sighs. “Hap’ns.”
“You better not’ve got yourself a pint yesterday,” he teases.
“Yeh right,” he snorts breathily, closing his eyes. “Werr’d I ev’n ge’ one?”
“I don’t know, stole it from the nurse’s St. Patrick’s Day party?” he suggests. “Did they all wear green scrubs or just some?”
“Dun remember,” he sighs.
“Hey, you’re not supposed to go to sleep,” Dan reminds him.
“’m not,” he murmurs. “Jus’ restin’ m’eyes.”
He tries to think of something to say to keep Jones awake, but he’s drawing a blank. He checks his watch. It’s just about an hour until Lynn’s set to bring him up his dinner. Maybe he can let him sleep just for twenty minutes or something. Dan reaches a hand out to Jones’s and entwines their fingers.
“Jones?” he says when he doesn’t respond to Dan’s touch, but he’s already asleep.
Dan bites his lip, torn about whether or not to let Jones have a little nap.
“Jones?” he tries again, a little louder.
He makes a kind of grunting noise but doesn’t stir. Dan shifts uncomfortably in the chair and squeezes his hand, pulling it closer to him. Lynn had taught him to squeeze the tip of one finger if he had trouble waking Jones up. His eyes flutter open when Dan puts pressure against his nailbed and he looks at Dan with obvious confusion. The spells of disorientation he has when he wakes up have been slowly getting worse, Jones often babbling nonsense for close to an hour. Dan suddenly realizes that this is probably why Lynn wanted Dan to keep him awake.
“Who?” he asks with wide eyes.
“Dan,” he replies hastily, putting a hand to his chest.
“Rain paper,” Jones says uncertainly.
“What’s that, Jones?” Dan asks.
“Five oatmeal play, play-” he stammers, like he’s working hard to get each word out. “Play mmmm, mm-mirror?”
“Slow down,” Dan croons, unsettled. “Think about what you’re trying to say for a bit and then try again.”
“Mm-ma-m-mango,” he manages. “A clock.”
“A clock? What about the clock? Are you wondering what time it is?” Dan asks, trying to make sense of the especially bizarre words.
“Bowl…s,” Jones continues. “Potato table time?”
“Your lunch is coming soon,” Dan offers.
“Cream soup, p-p-potato Lynn,” he says agreeably.
“That’s right,” Dan encourages him, hoping he’ll become clear again before Lynn arrives. “Lynn is going to come bring you your food in about a half hour.”
“Roll white. Slice please?” Jones asks.
“You want white bread today? I can ask for you, okay?”
“Yes,” he manages. “How Dan?”
“How what, Jones?” Dan asks, confused again.
“How the hospital come?” he babbles.
“How come you’re in the hospital?” he supplies uncertainly.
“You,” Jones insists. “Come you to hospital?”
“I just got a taxi, love,” Dan smiles. “Don’t worry.”
“Should you be office Rape?” he asks.
“What?” Dan gapes.
“Dan be at should grape?” Jones asks again. “Time writing to should work.”
“I don’t have to go to the office, remember? I’m writing on the laptop,” Dan says in hopes of answering the question.
“Not have to be shrug a Rape?”
“Oh, SugaRape?” Dan asks, finally understanding what he’s trying to say. “No. No SugaRape. Weekend on Sunday, that’s where I work, not SugaRape.”
“Idiots?” Jones replies.
“Yes,” Dan grimaces. “Yes because they’re idiots. Remember?”
“Mm, Sunday?” he asks.
“That’s right, The Weekend on Sunday.”
“Today Sunday?” Jones frowns.
“No today is Friday,” he clarifies.
“Friday what day?” he asks.
“March eighteenth,” Dan says.
Jones thinks it over for a while silently until he seems content. His eyelids start to droop and Dan has to grab his leg to get him to open them all the way again.
“No sleeping,” he says firmly.
Lynn appears soon after with his soup on a tray. She scans Jones’s limp body and drooping eyelids as Dan tries to prevent him falling asleep. More than once he resorts to just poking him until he feebly tries to swat his hand away. It takes both of them to feed him and make sure he stays awake. The minute his small bowl of soup is finished he nods off.
“Did he fall asleep before I got in?” she asks, but nothing in her tone sounds accusatory.
“Yeah,” Dan admits. “Just for a few minutes, but yeah he did.”
Lynn just nods, “I figured.”
“I know,” Dan says shamefully.
“It’s not your fault,” she consoles him. “He’s in stage three hepatic encephalopathy, Dan. As long as we can still wake him up, we can deal with him being delirious for a while.”
“What do you mean as long as we can still wake him up?” Dan asks, panicked.
“No, I don’t mean it like that,” she says. “I meant- do you know what stage four of HE is?”
Her meaning sinks in and he nods weakly, “Coma.”
Chapter 33
Rating: M
Summary: As the surgery approaches it's all Dan can do to try and keep hope alive
Warnings: swearing, medical descriptions, highly emotional dialogue, death mention, mild sexuality
Word count: 3493
“It’s called hepatic encephalopathy,” Doctor Wallace explains. “It is, of course, a physical ailment, the primary causes being elevated ammonia levels and amino acid imbalances in the body as a result of the liver not functioning properly to remove the harmful substances. However, the most noticeable symptoms are altered mental state and behavioural changes.”
Dan sits with his hands palm to palm between his knees and Bruce sits beside him, one hand over his mouth, the other gripping the back of Dan’s chair. Lynn had given him a brief overview of what HE is almost a week ago now, but since then Jones has done even more testing to confirm the diagnosis. Dan feels guilty for not having told Bruce already, but he never figured out the right words to say and eventually decided to just let the doctors explain.
“Some people experience hepatic encephalopathy in bouts for months or even years, but in patients with acute liver failure, like Mr. Jones, it is more common to be seen much more frequently or consistently,” she continues matter-of-factly. “That being said; however, it is a very serious condition and in severe cases can be life threatening.”
“So, what do we do?” Dan asks.
“Well, there are medications designed to absorb ammonia from the body so that it may not build up, such as lactulose, which he has been taking-”
“But then how has he gotten this sick?” Dan demands.
“Firstly, Mr. Ashcroft, it is much harder to control these things in acute liver failure because the function of the liver deteriorates so rapidly,” she explains. “What happens when the liver stops functioning properly is that pressure grows stronger in the portal vein, which can lead to gastrointestinal bleeding. GI bleeds are precipitating factors of encephalopathy, especially if a bleed takes place in and around the intestines, where ammonia is located.”
“So that’s what caused it?” Bruce asks. “The bleeding he had?”
“It is very possible,” Doctor Wallace nods. “His diet is being adjusted, as are his medications, and we may have to consider doing some dialysis to try and remove some of the toxins in his blood. The more toxins there are in the blood, the more are able to build up in the brain, which is why you may notice forgetfulness, confusion, an inability to do simple mental tasks like addition and subtraction, mood swings, fatigue, tremors, sullenness or bouts of anger, etcetera. Diagnosis is difficult because often in the early stages only close family or friends are able to notice the changes.”
“But you have diagnosed him, right?” Dan frowns. “I mean, you are sure this is what he’s got?”
“Yes, the tremor in his hands is a diagnostic property we notice in patients with encephalopathy,” she confirms. “However, what I would like you both to help with is identifying the stage of progression of the condition that Mr. Jones is likely to be experiencing. I’d like for you both to take a look at the sheet in front of you and place an ‘x’ beside the symptoms you have noticed.”
“Of course,” Bruce mutters, pushing his glasses up his nose and producing a biro from his breast pocket.
Dan’s heartrate doubles at the number of ‘x’s on the page between the two of them. He swallows hard, his throat feeling painfully dry all of a sudden.
“These, um,” he starts, almost certain that his voice is going to fail him. “These- are these, er, they’re going to go away after the surgery, right?”
“It’s hard to say,” she says slowly. “Overall, yes, the majority of symptoms are likely to diminish. However, swelling in the brain is not to be taken lightly. He may still demonstrate some neurological difficulties, memory loss or forgetfulness.”
Dan buries his face in his hands and lets Bruce finish filling out the paper and slide it back across the desk to Doctor Wallace. She peers over them for a minute, her glasses perched at the end of her nose, before she tells them they can go and see Jones. They don’t talk on the way to his room, but there’s a kind of unspoken understanding and mutual sympathy between them.
“Jones?” Dan calls quietly as he opens the door, expecting him to be asleep. “Jones are you- what the-?”
He’s stood by the bedside table, rifling through the drawers and tossing objects over his shoulders. The bedding hangs over the sides and end of the bed, untucked in various places, and the pillows are scattered across the room, some with and some without their cases. Dan bends down to pick up his iPod so it won’t be stepped on, hanging it around the back of his neck by the headphones, and takes a step towards Jones.
“Jones,” he asks softly. “What are you doing, Jones?”
“I can’t find it,” he declares and continues pulling things out of the drawer and discarding them.
“Jones, just- just calm down for a minute, okay?” Dan says as he approaches him. “Me and your dad are here, maybe we can help you.”
He pauses for a moment and turns to Dan, “I don’t know where it is.”
“Okay-” Dan starts to say.
“I’ve looked everywhere,” Jones insists. “It’s got to be somewhere in here, I just can’t remember where I put it.”
“Have you asked Lynn at all?” he suggests. “She’s probably the only person who’d move anything in here.”
“No, I haven’t asked her,” Jones mutters. “I just don’t understand where it could’ve gone.”
“Where what could’ve gone, Graham?” Bruce asks, coming up to Dan’s side.
Jones turns back to the drawer, “I don’t know.”
“You-” Dan says in confusion. “You don’t know what you’re looking for?”
“No,” sighs Jones with the air of explaining something very simple to an unintelligent child. “I don’t know what I’m looking for right now, but I’ll know when I find it.”
“Oh,” Dan nods slowly, still confused. “Alright.”
“How will you know when you find it?” Bruce asks.
“Because then I’ll have found it, so I’ll know,” he says again. “I’ll know it when I see it.”
“Graham, you’re not making any sense, son,” Bruce replies. “Why don’t you work on figuring out what you’re looking for first, and then we can track it down later.”
“You don’t need to know what you’re looking for to find it, dad,” Jones says with exasperation.
“I think you do-” he argues.
“You just look and then when you find it, you go, ‘Oh look, here it is, I’ve found it. This is what I was looking for.’ Y’know?” Jones continues, not taking notice of Bruce’s interjection.
“Well, I guess we can’t really help you look then,” Dan cuts in to disperse the tension. “Because we won’t know if we find it, will we?”
“No,” Jones considers, pausing again. “I guess you wouldn’t.”
“Can I do anything else for you, then?” he asks, stroking Jones’s hair.
Jones suddenly looks shy and a bit embarrassed, “Could you, um-?”
He gestures towards the ransacked bed and Dan nods with a soft smile. He gives Jones a soft kiss on the forehead and makes his way to the hospital bed, picking up the discarded pillows and cases as he goes. Jones continues to scatter various objects and papers from inside the drawer, the blue crayon he’d kept breaking in half as it hits the tiled floor.
Bruce joins Dan as he tries to tidy up the bed, stuffing untucked sheets under the mattress and down beside the bedrails. The end result looks incredibly sloppy compared to the crisp corners the nurses somehow achieve every time, but Dan’s done the best job he can. Bruce slips the cases back onto the pillows they’d been taken off and piles them up at the end of the bed.
“I’ll just look for it later,” Jones says with a wide yawn almost immediately after they finish. “I’m going to have a little sleep now.”
Dan helps him climb into the bed and get comfortable, slipping the headphones from around his neck over Jones’s ears and finding the sleep playlist. Jones smiles drowsily at him as he hits the play button.
“Is that volume alright?” Dan asks and Jones nods, closing his eyes.
Dan slides the iPod onto the bedside tables and strokes Jones’s cheek lightly with his thumb. He’s sound asleep within minutes, and Dan goes around the room to collect the scattered contents of his drawers.
“Dan, really, I can’t thank you enough,” Bruce says almost mournfully. “He’s so lucky to have you.”
Dan shakes his head, “It’s fine.”
“I know,” he replies with a weak smile. “I know you love him a lot, Dan, but I really can’t even explain how grateful I am to you.”
“You, erm, you don’t mind the article for The Weekend, do you?” Dan asks timidly, tapping a pile of papers on the table to line them up.
“No, no of course not,” he says, shaking his head as he picks up the box of playing cards from the floor. “I mean, I’m sure I’m involved to a certain extent, but really it’s between you and Graham. I’m glad that you can do this to keep on with work. It’d be a shame if your work suffered as a result of this whole ordeal, so it’s really wonderful that the editor has found a way for you to remain productive.”
Dan just nods, not sure what to say as he deposits the broken crayon into the drawer carefully, as if it were a wounded animal.
“Dan,” Bruce starts, his tone deeper and somehow softer. “I don’t think he would have even made it this far without you.”
His throat feels tight and he can’t bring himself to look at Bruce. He shakes his head feebly as he strokes the crayon’s paper wrapper, trying to hold himself together. There’s a sinking feeling in the pit of Dan’s stomach and he’s not sure he wants to hear what Bruce is about to say.
“Believe me Dan,” he sighs. “I know that right now you don’t want to even consider it, but there’s still a possibility that he’s not going to make it.”
Dan shakes his head more forcefully, still refusing to look up.
“And even if he does there’s still a chance that the damage is irreversible, Doctor Wallace said it herself,” there’s a long pause before he continues. “He could end up with a physical disability, which would be hard enough, but worse than that he could come out of this with serious brain damage. I have no idea what kind of problems he could or is going to have. I don’t know how severe this memory loss is, or how bad it could get in the next week and a half.”
Dan chances a glance at Bruce out of the corner of his eye. He’s stood at the end of the bed, gripping the bars in both hands and looking down at Jones’s sleeping face.
“What I mean to say is that it’s incredibly hard to care for someone with the mental disabilities that Graham could end up with,” he says heavily. “It’s hard financially, it’s hard physically, and it’s hard emotionally. He may not be the same person you’ve known all these years, and he could become your patient instead of your partner.”
Dan finally looks him in the face, his meaning starting to become clearer, “What are you trying to say?”
“That I’m giving you an out,” he manages. “I’m his father and he’s my responsibility. The moment you become a parent you sign on for everything and anything, but this isn’t something you signed up for, Dan. I’m saying that it’s okay for you to walk away. I certainly won’t think any less of you; there’s no shame in it.”
“No,” Dan says, shaking his head.
“I know you love him, Dan,” Bruce says, his voice strained with emotion. “But I really want you to think about yourself as well. You have to do what’s best for you, I wouldn’t want to see your devotion to Graham hold you back or limit you.”
Dan takes a deep breath. He’s taken aback by everything Bruce is saying, but mostly he’s shaken by the genuine concern he has for Dan’s wellbeing.
“Bruce,” he says as evenly as he can. “I’m touched that you care about me in all this, and I may not know what it’s like to be a parent, but I do know what it’s like to make it your only goal to protect and take full responsibility for a child. And with that said, I can tell you that I am prepared to make those same promises, those same sacrifices for Jones that I did for Claire. And the sacrifices? They aren’t really sacrifices when you love someone that much, you know that.”
Bruce nods, a few tears spilling over from his watery eyes.
“Jones has stuck by me and supported me through the demons I had to fight,” Dan continues. “And I’m going to stick by him no matter what. It’s not some grandiose or heroic act, I am thinking about myself. I need him. I need to be with him, I can’t survive in this world without him, he’s the only thing that’s been keeping me from giving up all these years. Now, it may have taken us both a stupidly long time to realise that-”
They both laugh throatily through tight throats and tear streaked faces.
“But I need him, and I’d choose a hard life with him over an easy life alone every time,” Dan declares. “He’s going to make it. He’s got to.”
Before he has time to realise what’s happening, Bruce’s arms are around him, hugging him tightly as Dan sobs. Even though Dan’s almost a foot taller than him in his boots, Dan feels vulnerable and fragile, but Bruce’s embrace is protective and comforting. He’s scared his sobbing will wake Jones, but he can’t seem to do anything to control it. To his relief Jones continues to sleep soundly until Dan wakes him to say goodbye for the night several hours later.
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They never did end up figuring out what Jones was looking for, and no one reminded Jones of his aimless search. Although, he did seem to remember some details when he expressed his disappointment to Dan about breaking the crayon. Dan promised him he’d get him a whole new box, but he can’t manage much because of his hands anyway.
“I’m telling you Jones, it was so weird,” Dan insists. “It’s a pointless holiday anyway.”
“I’m sure there’s some reason for it,” Jones replies blearily.
“The reason’s to get shitfaced,” he says cynically. “You don’t even get the day off work, that’s how you know it’s a crap holiday.”
“D’you at least have a little bit ‘f fun?” Jones asks with a yawn.
“Not really,” he frowns. “Drunk people are such twats. You really notice how obnoxious people get when they’re drunk if you’re totally sober.”
“Wul nex year you c’n ge’ off yer face, kay?” Jones mumbles.
“Hey, you’re not supposed to sleep yet, Lynn told me to keep you awake,” Dan says giving his leg a shake.
“’m fine,” he mutters. “’m not ‘sleep.”
“I saw Danni’s tits,” Dan grins cheekily.
“What?” Jones asks, his eyes opening wider.
Dan laughs mischievously, “She was wearing this really see through top that said ‘Kiss me I’m Irish’ on it-”
“That dsn’t count,” Jones scoffs.
“Let me finish,” he argues. “And this bloke spilled his beer everywhere, so it got all wet and everything-”
“No, st’ll dsn’t count,” Jones shakes his head.
“-and so she just took it off.”
“’n th’ middle ‘f th’ pub?” Jones asks in disbelief.
“Yep,” Dan smirks. “And she had those sticker things on them that were all sparkly and in the shape of shamrocks.”
“What’ver,” Jones huffs goodnaturedly. “Pri-ee nisso yeah?”
“What?” Dan asks, leaning closer to him.
“’Er tiz,” he replies. “Pree nize.”
“Yeah, they’re pretty nice,” Dan laughs. “Are you okay? You’re all slurring your words.”
“’m fine,” he sighs. “Hap’ns.”
“You better not’ve got yourself a pint yesterday,” he teases.
“Yeh right,” he snorts breathily, closing his eyes. “Werr’d I ev’n ge’ one?”
“I don’t know, stole it from the nurse’s St. Patrick’s Day party?” he suggests. “Did they all wear green scrubs or just some?”
“Dun remember,” he sighs.
“Hey, you’re not supposed to go to sleep,” Dan reminds him.
“’m not,” he murmurs. “Jus’ restin’ m’eyes.”
He tries to think of something to say to keep Jones awake, but he’s drawing a blank. He checks his watch. It’s just about an hour until Lynn’s set to bring him up his dinner. Maybe he can let him sleep just for twenty minutes or something. Dan reaches a hand out to Jones’s and entwines their fingers.
“Jones?” he says when he doesn’t respond to Dan’s touch, but he’s already asleep.
Dan bites his lip, torn about whether or not to let Jones have a little nap.
“Jones?” he tries again, a little louder.
He makes a kind of grunting noise but doesn’t stir. Dan shifts uncomfortably in the chair and squeezes his hand, pulling it closer to him. Lynn had taught him to squeeze the tip of one finger if he had trouble waking Jones up. His eyes flutter open when Dan puts pressure against his nailbed and he looks at Dan with obvious confusion. The spells of disorientation he has when he wakes up have been slowly getting worse, Jones often babbling nonsense for close to an hour. Dan suddenly realizes that this is probably why Lynn wanted Dan to keep him awake.
“Who?” he asks with wide eyes.
“Dan,” he replies hastily, putting a hand to his chest.
“Rain paper,” Jones says uncertainly.
“What’s that, Jones?” Dan asks.
“Five oatmeal play, play-” he stammers, like he’s working hard to get each word out. “Play mmmm, mm-mirror?”
“Slow down,” Dan croons, unsettled. “Think about what you’re trying to say for a bit and then try again.”
“Mm-ma-m-mango,” he manages. “A clock.”
“A clock? What about the clock? Are you wondering what time it is?” Dan asks, trying to make sense of the especially bizarre words.
“Bowl…s,” Jones continues. “Potato table time?”
“Your lunch is coming soon,” Dan offers.
“Cream soup, p-p-potato Lynn,” he says agreeably.
“That’s right,” Dan encourages him, hoping he’ll become clear again before Lynn arrives. “Lynn is going to come bring you your food in about a half hour.”
“Roll white. Slice please?” Jones asks.
“You want white bread today? I can ask for you, okay?”
“Yes,” he manages. “How Dan?”
“How what, Jones?” Dan asks, confused again.
“How the hospital come?” he babbles.
“How come you’re in the hospital?” he supplies uncertainly.
“You,” Jones insists. “Come you to hospital?”
“I just got a taxi, love,” Dan smiles. “Don’t worry.”
“Should you be office Rape?” he asks.
“What?” Dan gapes.
“Dan be at should grape?” Jones asks again. “Time writing to should work.”
“I don’t have to go to the office, remember? I’m writing on the laptop,” Dan says in hopes of answering the question.
“Not have to be shrug a Rape?”
“Oh, SugaRape?” Dan asks, finally understanding what he’s trying to say. “No. No SugaRape. Weekend on Sunday, that’s where I work, not SugaRape.”
“Idiots?” Jones replies.
“Yes,” Dan grimaces. “Yes because they’re idiots. Remember?”
“Mm, Sunday?” he asks.
“That’s right, The Weekend on Sunday.”
“Today Sunday?” Jones frowns.
“No today is Friday,” he clarifies.
“Friday what day?” he asks.
“March eighteenth,” Dan says.
Jones thinks it over for a while silently until he seems content. His eyelids start to droop and Dan has to grab his leg to get him to open them all the way again.
“No sleeping,” he says firmly.
Lynn appears soon after with his soup on a tray. She scans Jones’s limp body and drooping eyelids as Dan tries to prevent him falling asleep. More than once he resorts to just poking him until he feebly tries to swat his hand away. It takes both of them to feed him and make sure he stays awake. The minute his small bowl of soup is finished he nods off.
“Did he fall asleep before I got in?” she asks, but nothing in her tone sounds accusatory.
“Yeah,” Dan admits. “Just for a few minutes, but yeah he did.”
Lynn just nods, “I figured.”
“I know,” Dan says shamefully.
“It’s not your fault,” she consoles him. “He’s in stage three hepatic encephalopathy, Dan. As long as we can still wake him up, we can deal with him being delirious for a while.”
“What do you mean as long as we can still wake him up?” Dan asks, panicked.
“No, I don’t mean it like that,” she says. “I meant- do you know what stage four of HE is?”
Her meaning sinks in and he nods weakly, “Coma.”
Chapter 33