Fic: Jabberwocky, Part 22a, Blue Cortina, Sytaxia
Gene and Annie followed Denslow and a nurse down the hall, Denslow still drying his freshly washed hands on his hankerchief as they made their way towards Sam’s room in the ICU. “The new room’s on the third floor, private room, and of course your guard will be allowed at all hours,” Denslow said, taking long strides that Gene was able to keep up with, but that caused Annie and the nurse to fall behind somewhat. He leaned in close to Gene as they walked, “And if it is Barrie, I’ve put in a request that I be allowed to follow up on the case, as opposed to a proper internal medicine doctor being on it - it’s definitely not standard procedure, but I’ve dangled the proposition of writing a paper that could bring could publicity to the hospital in the medical community in front of Dr. Hensley, our administrator, saying that I need to research the rates of recovery from internal surgery and injury after subsequent infection: that should be enough for him to place me as Mr. Tyler’s primary physician, even if I am a surgeon, and it should allow me to block Barrie from seeing him,” Denslow said softly, and Gene nodded.
“Any help you can give, we’d appreciate it. And going along with the printing,” Gene added, gesturing towards Denslow’s hands as he folded his hankerchief and slid it back into his pocket.
Denslow shook his head, “I would have let you take the prints sooner, if legal hadn’t barred me from doing so, and so would Henry, I’d imagine. Dr. Gale,” he corrected himself, and Gene nodded at him. Denslow straightened his back and slowed his pace a bit, allowing Annie and the nurse to catch up with him and Gene. “Radiology should be ready for us to go down for the x-ray now, and we’ll move him to his new room directly from there. I will say this for Barrie, he is doing his job well. We’d normally have had x-rays much sooner, but the risk of moving him was too high. They say they’re developing a portable x-ray in the states, you know,” he added, trying to make conversation, and drawing a disinterested look from Gene.
“How is he then, really?” Gene asked, and Denslow smiled at him encouragingly.
“Much improved, I’m happy to say, and I’ll be able to give you a more concrete answer once I see the x-ray. The nurses will start trying to help him move about a bit tomorrow, and we won’t replace the catheter, after tonight - he’ll be able to relieve himself normally, with the nurses’ aid, and in a few days he should be able to make it up and at least about the room, maybe down the hallway, on his own, although I wouldn’t want him attempting more movement than that, not for a few weeks, anyway. And we’ll likely be able to take him off of the IV in a few days, as well, once I’m satisfied of his ability to keep down solid food, and enough fluids to keep himself properly hydrated.”
Gene’s face turned stony for a moment, “Thought you were going to start him back on food this morning?”
“He couldn’t, Gov. Sicked it up,” Annie said, rather sheepishly, trying to listen in on Gene’s conversation with Denslow.
“He what?” Gene cast a quick, worried look at Annie, and then looked to Denslow.
“It’s common, after not eating at all for two weeks, and after being on such strong antibiotics. There are actually studies being conducted in Sweden at the moment, suggesting that there are actually helpful bacteria in the upper digestive tract that are severely impeded by strong antibiotics,” Gene started to glower angrily at him, and Denslow took the hint, “They think there are good germs in the gut, and that the medicine we use to kill the bad germs hurts them a bit,” he simplified, and Gene grunted in response.
“Wouldn’t care to know about that. No offense, William, but after this, I don’t want to see you anywhere outside of a pub,” Gene said, and Denslow nodded at him.
“I might have to take you up on that offer, Gene,” he said, and Gene nodded. Annie smiled to herself, glad that there was someone that they could not only trust, but that could somehow keep Gene in line.
“Another thing - he’s still got that damned cough, too,” Gene said, his voice hard.
“That’s a good sign,” Denslow said, and Gene gave him a confused and mildly threatening look, which caused him to hastily add, “It means that his lungs are healing, forcing out the remaining congestion that the injuries and pneumonia caused. I’m actually rather impressed that he’s already healed enough to be coughing like that - most patients wouldn’t be for another day or two.”
“Strong one, even if he doesn’t look it,” Gene muttered, sticking his chin out a bit, almost like a proud parent receiving high marks for their child. Annie smiled at this. The four of them finally reached the door, and walked in to see Ray, leafing through a year-old issue of The Sporting Life that he’d picked up in the waiting room, sitting next to a still and sleeping Sam. Denslow muttered something to the nurse, and she quickly exited, returning just a few seconds later with a long, padded steel gurney rolling in front of her.
“Gov?” Ray asked, and Gene nodded at him.
“We’ve got fingerprints from Denslow, Gale, and that tosser, Barrie. Cartwright’s running them down to the station now, and I’ll be following her right up on that, making sure that those forensics boys pull their weight double-time, and following up on our plan for Hyde with Fletcher. Getting Creampuff’s input on that, as well, and we’ll add you to the mix as soon as you swap places with Skelton,” Gene said, gesturing towards Annie, who held up several folders and smiled at Ray.
“I’ll see you there,” Annie said to Ray, and then peered closely at Sam, a slightly wistful look on her face that, for some reason unbeknownst to him, made Gene feel a slight prickle of annoyance.
“All right, all right, get a move on, Love,” he said, and Annie nodded at him and turned, walking briskly out of the door.
“We’ll have to remove his catheter before we get him onto the gurney - you might want to leave for that,” Denslow said, as he and the nurse approached the bed.
“Remove the what?” Ray asked, and Gene shot him a look.
“The tube in his prick, Ray,” Gene said hotly, and Ray’s features twisted in disgust.
“The what? I thought you were just makin’ the poor twonk use one of those pan things,” Ray said, looking at Denslow and the nurse. “That’s just plain torture, that is,” he added, still looking disgusted at the thought.
“I can assure you, it’s not painful or uncomfortable in any way, once it’s in. He will feel it a bit when we remove it, though, and I’m sure he’ll want some privacy,” Denslow said, and Ray nodded, heading for the door.
“Be right out here, Gov. Last thing I need is to see Tyler’s tadger, especially not if those bastard’s’re torturing it,” he said, stepping out. Gene remained in the room.
“Doesn’t bother me any, isn’t like I don’t have one. Besides, someone he knows ought to wake him up before you go tickling his willy,” Gene said, moving towards Sam. Denslow stepped aside and let Gene approach, and Gene laid a hand on Sam’s shoulder.
“Come on, up and at ‘em, Sammy-boy,” Gene said, lightly shaking Sam. Sam’s eyes slowly flickered open, and he stared confusedly up at Gene.
“Gov? How long have I been asleep? I missed helping Chris?” Sam asked, trying to lift himself up higher on the bed. Gene held him in place.
“You’ve only been napping an hour or so; we’ve just got the prints from the doctors, and Cartwright’s running them down to the station now. Ray’s still here, he’s outside the door, and I’m going to leave as soon as I make sure your new digs are up to scratch. They’re taking you out of the ICU, and you’re getting some pictures taken on the way, so you might want to do something about your hair, all right? Oh, and before I forget, the doc’s going to pinch at your tackle for bit, too.” Gene gave Sam an evil smirk at this, and Sam looked at him, trying to understand everything that Gene was saying.
“Pictures?” He asked, and Denslow nodded, moving forward and stretching out his hand, so that it was hovering a few inches above Sam’s.
“Doctor William Denslow; I was your thoracic surgeon, and I’m monitoring your progress at DCI Hunt’s request. We’re taking you down for some x-rays before we move you to another room, outside of the ICU.” Denslow looked down at his hand, and Sam slowly lifted his and met Denslow’s with a handshake, trying to judge the feeling of the other man’s fingers, and finding them as unfamiliar as he’d found Barrie’s.
Denslow gave Sam a small, professional smile, and then pulled a pair of latex gloves out of the pocket of his white coat. He looked towards the foot of the bed, and the nurse nodded, moving the bin closer towards him, and then pulling out her own pair of latex gloves, and a small, plastic bag. “We’re going to remove your catheter now, Mr. Tyler,” he said, and Sam looked up at him, a slightly pleased look on his face.
“Sam’s fine, not Mr. Tyler. Does this mean I’ll be allowed to get up and go to the bathroom on my own?” Sam asked, and Denslow shook his head.
“I don’t think you’ll be ready for that for another few days, Sam, although you might be able to manage sooner than most, with the nurses’ help. For tonight and tomorrow at least, the staff can assist you in using a bedpan,” Denslow said, and Sam made a face like a toddler being told to eat his greens.
“All right, if we’re ready,” Denslow said, and the nurse slowly pulled all of the covers off of Sam, leaving him laying on the bed in just his hospital gown. She folded them slightly, and then left them in a heap in the corner of the room, presumably for porters to carry out. Gene grimaced as he watched Denslow remove the tube, and then saw the nurse place the part that had been inside of Sam inside of the plastic bag, which she threw into the bin. The two of them then stripped off their gloves, and the nurse moved around to the other side of the bed, where she set about disconnecting the IV line from the line in Sam’s hand, leaving an odd, plastic appendage sticking up from under the surgical tape there.
“We’re going to move you onto the gurney now, Mr. Tyler. Are you ready?” Denslow asked, and Sam gave him a pleading look.
“Can I try to stand, just to stand, first? Please,” he asked, and Denslow gave him an appraising look, and then gestured for Gene to come over. Gene stared at him confusedly, and then Denslow looked back at Sam.
“All right, just to stand, and I warn you, it’ll be difficult, all right? You can’t rush your recovery; doing so is only going to have the opposite effect, and prolong it, all right? Mr. Hunt, would you mind assisting us?” Gene stepped up next to the bed, still looking questioningly at Denslow. Sam was looking at them both, a rather eager look on his face.
Denslow moved the gurney a few feet away from the bed, and then reached down and started to turn a crank that lowered the top portion of the bed until it was flat. Sam felt his ribs creak and ache as he was lowered down, and felt his chest tighten slightly. Denslow eventually stood again, and looked down at him, “Can you sit up on your own, Sam?” Sam struggled into a sitting position, surprised at the amount of strength that it took just to raise himself up, and at the fact that just that motion was enough to make him out of breath. He did, however, manage to get fully upright, and Denslow nodded. “Good, very good. And can you turn around, get your legs over the side of the bed?” Sam complied with this, and found that he was panting for air by the time that he managed to position himself on the edge of the bed. Gene was giving him a worried look throughout the entire operation, and this helped him to keep going, to prove that he could. His chest constricted on him again as he struggled to catch his breath, and he felt Gene’s hand on his shoulders as he started coughing again. The nurse rushed forward with one of the emesis bowls, holding it up for him, and after an embarrassing minute of coughing and choking, he managed to spit out a revolting mass into the bowl, looking away immediately after doing so.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered as he caught his breath, and he felt Gene’s hand slowly moving along his back.
“Nothing to be sorry for, Sam, I can assure you, it’s perfectly normal,” Denslow said, but Sam didn’t find this any more comforting.
Sam looked up at Gene, “I’m okay,” he said, and Gene grunted at this.
“You’re sure you want to try this?” Denslow asked, and Sam nodded. Denslow looked past him at Gene, “Grip him by the shoulders, up at the rounding portion of them. Do not, under any circumstances, grip him tightly about the chest. Don’t push inwards, push upwards, and try to let him carry his own weight, but, if need be, pull him up by the shoulders, just the upper portions of them. Don’t pull on his arms, either. Understood?”
“Maybe you or that bird ought to do this,” Gene said, suddenly incredibly afraid of hurting Sam.
“No,” Sam said, looking at him. “Stay.” Sam looked from Denslow to Gene, and Denslow nodded. Gene moved close to Sam, positioning his hands on the tops of Sam’s shoulders, and Denslow stepped in as well, holding one arm out in front of Sam, and one arm behind Sam.
“On the count of three, gentlemen, one, two,” Sam took a deep breath. He had to do this. Had to. “Three,” Denslow said, and Sam slowly slid off of the bed, feeling the cold formica tiling of the floor under his bare feet. He straightened his back, and found that he was standing, Gene’s hands on his shoulders, his ribs and back screaming in hot, sharp protest, and his knees threatening to give out, but his back straight and his feet firmly on the ground.
“I told you I could,” Sam said defiantly, and Gene gave Denslow a wry smile.
“Likes to go against orders a bit, you see,” he said, and Denslow smiled back at them.
“All right; would you like to try and take a step, Sam?” Denslow asked, and Sam nodded, and then slowly tried to lift his left leg, placing it forward and nearer the gurney. His feet and legs didn’t want to cooperate, and his knees continued to threaten him, but he managed to get the leg in front of him, and then to bring his right leg up behind him. The single step had taken him halfway from the bed to the gurney, although it had set him to panting again. “And one more step, Sam,” Denslow said, and Sam complied, forcing his legs to obey him once again. The single step seemed to take forever, and by the time they were done, Sam was gasping for breath, and being halfway pulled up by Gene, but he had done it.
“There we are. I think we can definitely try taking a few more steps with the nurses tomorrow, Sam,” Denslow said, and he moved around them until he was facing Gene and Sam. “The next bit’s a little tricky - even if you had the strength to pull yourself up with your arms, doing so would shift your ribs too much, so you’re going to need to be lifted onto the gurney from here. DCI Hunt is going to continue to hold you by your shoulders, taking a bit more of your weight, and I’m going to reach down and grab your legs, all right?” Sam nodded. “After that, we’re going to shift you sideways, and Nurse Anders here,” he gestured towards the nurse, “is going to reach across the bed and grip you about the hips, pulling you over while we support your weight, until you’re over the gurney. Then we’re going to gently lower you down. Gently,” he looked at Gene. “Do you want to continue helping us, Mr. Hunt? I can have Carol here go and get a porter, instead,” Denslow said, and Gene shook his head.
“I’m fine. As long as Sam can stand me, and you’re sure I’m not going to butcher him by accident,” Gene said, and Denslow nodded.
“All right. And again, on the count of three,” the nurse moved over to the other side of the gurney, and Denslow began his count, “One,” Denslow bent low, “Two,” Sam felt Gene’s hands, strong and steady, on his shoulders, and was intensely reminded of doing trust falls in training college, “Three,” Denslow lifted Sam’s legs, and Gene’s hands tightened further on his shoulders. The nurse reached across and gripped him across the hips, and then they lowered him, lightly, onto the gurney. Sam was still panting from the exertion of taking his few steps, and started to cough as they set him down. Sam was almost surprised when it was Gene that eased him up into a sitting position then, running his hands lightly across his back as he shook, and the nurse grabbed another bowl, but he shook his head, slowly regaining his breath. Once he was breathing normally, Denslow eased him down on the gurney.
“And now, to Radiology,” Denslow said, his voice sounding incredibly distant. Sam’s eyelids suddenly felt horribly heavy, and he was asleep before they’d even wheeled him out of the door.
Sam slowly opened his eyes and blinked, incredibly grateful to whatever powers governed his strange world for the fact that he’d managed to get some decent sleep without any dreams, without his double and the test card girl, without woods and cliffs of soil and monsters and impossible weather patterns. He looked up, and noticed that he was in a different room - Denslow and Gene had said that they’d be moving him, and Sam suddenly remembered that he was supposed to be having an x-ray. He blinked again, the haze slowly clearing from his vision, and took in the sights of the room. The floor here was blue, instead of yellow, and the walls were plain white plaster, lined with a garish strip of blue patterned paper. An IV was hanging from one of the archaic glass bottles that made up 1973 IV’s, the line going down to his hand, and the blankets and sheet that were pulled up to his chest were white, contrasting with a pale blue hospital gown. The bed was still a hospital bed, raised at an angle, and it gave him a good vantage point of the room - bedside table, complete with pitcher, glass, tissues and kidney-shaped bowls, several chairs against the wall, and, next to the bed, a chair and a rolling table, covered in wires and electrical apparatus, and an ashtray, a still smoking cigarette butt smoldering in it.
The door slowly opened, and Chris walked in, staring at his shoes as he did so. He looked up, and then turned suddenly back to the door for a second, before looking back at Sam, his eyes slightly wider than they had been the moment before. “Boss?” he asked, and Sam tried to smile at him.
“Chris,” he said, and looked over at the table. “You bring that lot in?”
Chris nodded, and then seated himself in the chair, rolling the table closer to Sam, but stopping before rolling it all the way across the bed. “I brought it in, so you could show me how to make them bug things, but we won’t, if you’re not up to it an’ all,” he said, fiddling with one of the wires on the table.
“I’m up to it. What time is it?” Sam reached up and rubbed at his eyes, thankful that his arms seemed to be obeying him again, although the movement seemed to take far more effort than it should.
“’Bout half five,” Chris said, sliding the table closer to Sam, so that it rolled over his lap. Sam slowly placed his hands at either side of himself and started to haul himself up into more of a sitting position, wondering if Chris knew where the crank on the bed was, and wishing that they’d hurry up and invent electric beds with buttons.
“You shouldn’t try to get up,” Chris said, hurriedly, as he saw Sam moving. “The Gov said I was supposed to smack you, if you tried to get up again. Said you walked a bit, then passed out so hard you didn’t even notice them takin’ the x-rays of you.”
“I’m not trying to get up, just to sit up a bit,” Sam assured him, annoyance creeping in at the edges of his mind. “And I didn’t pass out, I fell asleep.”
“Right, Boss,” Chris said, not quite believingly. He continued to fiddle with the wires, and Sam took a mental inventory of the materials in front of him.
“Is this all there is?” he asked, and Chris shook his head.
“Loads more, here,” he kicked at something on the floor, and Sam strained to look down, and see a dirty cardboard box, which was starting to split, jaggedly, along one seam. It was full to the brim of old police radios, a removed car phone, what looked like a few wireless radios, and various other wires and electronic bits whose origins Sam could only guess at.
“Do you know where the crank is?” Sam asked, and Chris gave him a confused look.
“The what, Boss?”
“The crank. To move the bed further up.”
Chris studied the underside of the bed for a minute, and then got to his knees and started to twist and poke at the apparatus underneath it. The head of the bed suddenly slammed down, taking Sam with it, and sending hard jolts of pain through his back and ribs, he gasped, the air knocked out of him, and braced himself for another coughing fit, but it didn’t come. He closed his eyes and said another thank you to the powers that be, and then opened them to find Chris staring at him, looking as if he’d just killed his own dog. “Boss? You all right? I’m sorry, Boss, shit, I can’t believe I did that, just, wait, let me…” Chris’ voice trailed off as he ducked under the bed again, and Sam could hear muffled exclamations of “How in the bloody… Buggeration… No, wait, there we are…” And then the bed started to rise up, slowly, Sam being lifted up against it, until it was nearly at a ninety degree angle. Chris popped back up, his head even with the side of the bed, and looked anxiously at Sam. “That what you meant?” he asked sheepishly, and Sam nodded.
Chris climbed to his feet and then sat down in the chair, casting a few worried looks at Sam. “You sure you’re all right, Boss?”
“I’m fine, Chris. Come on, let’s just dive into it, before I get tired again,” Sam said, and Chris nodded, pushing the table up so that it was directly in front of Sam. Sam surveyed the parts again, and then looked to Chris. “Do you know what any of these are?” Sam asked, and Chris shook his head.
“Right… Okay, then what we need, is a transmitter. And a receiver. Err, could you hand me one of those police radios? Maybe the car phone?” He asked, and Chris reached down, and started handing up parts.
Sam leaned back against the bed, and then looked at Chris, “Okay, in order to keep from being picked up by any local FM bands, we’re going to stick with the lowest possible herz band. Do you know what a sine wave is?”
Chris looked puzzled, “A sign what’s posted at beaches?”
Sam winced. “Okay… Let’s try this: What do you know about radios?” Chris wracked his brain, and then started to think of everything that he could that had to do with radios, most of which had absolutely nothing to do with how they worked. Sam started to explain, and together, the two of them started to fit the wires together.
By seven o’clock, Chris was piecing capacitors and inductors together with expert skill, and they’d built four separate bugs, and one receiver for them all. Sam had been amazed at how quickly Chris had caught on, and at the fact that he’d managed to grasp the idea of transmitting at separate frequencies. Sam’s hands had started to shake after an hour of working on the bugs, the strength ebbing out of his arms, and Chris had taken over, expertly fitting the pieces together at Sam’s instruction.
“That it? That’s all? Not so hard as I thought,” Chris was beaming, and Sam leaned back, closing his eyes for a moment and smiling.
“That’s it. You cottoned on to it like magic, Chris,” Sam said, and Chris gave him a wide grin.
“It just makes sense, don’t it?” he asked, and Sam nodded.
“I guess it does,” he said, and then knit his brows together as Chris’ face warped into a frown.
“Probably forget all of it by tomorrow, won’t I?” he said, shrugging and starting to pile the left over pieces into the box on the floor, kicking it lightly with his toe.
Sam shook his head, “If you think like that, then yeah, you will. Just try to remember. Tell yourself you can.”
“What, like ‘mind over matter?’” Chris asked, and Sam nodded.
“Just remember what I told you about the range, all right?” Sam asked, and Chris nodded again.
“I won’t forget. I mean, I forget everything, don’t I? But not this. Word of honor,” he said, giving Sam a sheepish grin and holding up his hand, palm outwards.
Sam gave him an exasperated look, and then started to ask what he’d been wondering, ever since Chris had started to catch on so quickly to his lessons. “Chris, do you remember what you told me, last week, when I was ill?”
All comments, criticism, etc. are highly encouraged and greatly appreciated!