Braided Lives (12 page)

"Fucking hell! Sandra, grab a gurney. Trevor, help me get him up," the surgeon ordered. He and the corpsman lifted Peter's limp form up onto the elevated stretcher that Sandra hastily pushed forward. "Sandra, oxygen and get his B.P. Trev get a blood glucose and a pulse-ox on him."

There was a controlled flurry of activity and Jennifer clenched her fists, willing herself not to dash in her lover's direction. There was nothing she could do to help.

"B.P.'s 90 over 48," said Sandra.

"Blood glucose?" Craig demanded.

"Forty-six," replied Trevor.

"Jesus," muttered the doctor. "Okay, I need a bag of heavy dextrose. Trevor, do what you can to stabilize him." He grabbed a tourniquet and a 16 gauge needle to start an IV from a nearby bucket. Jennifer could feel tears burning in her eyes. "Sandra, get his temp, too."

"One hundred and four."

"IV line's in. Trev, any sign of consciousness?"

"No," the corpsman answered.

"Give him two minutes, then I want another blood pressure."

Jennifer wrapped her arms around her body in fear.

Was Peter going to die, too?

"His pressure's 92 over 50," said Sandra. "No real change, but at least it's not dropping any further."

"I should have realized he was hitting the danger zone. He's absolutely drenched in sweat." Craig's hand skimmed across Peter's forehead. He picked up a spring loaded lancet and pricked one of Peter's fingers. He popped the test strip in the glucometer.

"Any better?" asked Trevor.

"Forty-seven," replied Craig. "I have an unfortunate suspicion it's going to take quite a while to get him back in the normal range. Oh, and somebody's going to have to notify Isabelle's family, or next of kin."

"That sad task usually falls in Stephen's lap," said Sandra. "But it's four in the morning, and there's no hurry in passing on the grief. It can wait a couple of hours." She walked to the other gurney and slowly pulled the sheet over Isabelle's body. "I didn't really know her. Did Peter?"

"I have no idea, but he always seems to know everybody at least a little," replied Trevor. "Speaking of which…" Trevor called across to the far side of the room. "I take it you're close to Peter?"

Jennifer was rattled. She had been carefully quiet in her anxiety, afraid she would do something to make the whole situation worse.

"I'm Jennifer Sebastiano. I… I'm Peter's girlfriend,"

Jen admitted. She supposed it was true, well, sort of anyway. Tears were escaping down her cheeks. "He asked me to come and wait for him. He said he wanted somebody to touch when he was done."

"I understand why," said Trevor. "But I don't think he expected things to get quite this bad."

"Should I leave?" Jennifer asked, her voice sounded hoarse. She didn't want to leave but if it would help him in some way…

"No, not at all. As soon as we can get him out of the danger zone, I think it will help to have you touch him.

Yeah, he knows all of us, but if he's emotionally attached to you that's even better. I'm betting this is going to trigger at least a little bit of psi-shock in him,"

said Craig.

***

It took half an hour for Peter's blood glucose levels to climb up past the fifties and his blood pressure to stabilize. Craig and Trevor took measurements at fifteen minute intervals. Sandra sat with Jennifer and tried to reassure her that Peter was improving even if it was slower than desired. There was still no sign of conscious response from Peter, but the two men seemed to think that Peter was stabilizing.

Peter was carefully transferred to a bed and all the monitors and IVs set up. Trevor offered to move Isabelle's body to the tiny refrigerated room that occasionally functioned as a morgue. Craig squeezed the corpsman's shoulder in sympathy and agreed that it was probably a good idea.

***

"Jennifer, he's doing a little better. Now would be a good time to come over and hold him. I'm betting he's going to be pretty disoriented when he wakes up," said Craig.

Jen pulled herself together and walked to the bed.

Craig motioned for her to sit on the gurney. She sat gingerly, mindful of the wires and tubes. She took hold of Peter's hand. His fingers were chilly and limp in hers, his face very pale. Jennifer wasn't sure she'd ever seen him so still. Even when he was relaxed, she always thought of him as full of restless energy.

"Will he wake up soon?" she asked softly.

"I hope so, but realistically I'm not sure. I've never seen him lose consciousness because of using his healing talent. He told me that it happened once when he was in high school and he was in a coma for three days,"

the surgeon told her.

"Is he in a coma now?"

"No, he's not that deeply unconscious. I see a flinch response every time I draw blood from his fingers. My best guess is he burned through almost all of the readily available energy in his body in the span of less than an hour. It's taking some real effort for his body to recover." Craig touched her arm. "Try not to worry too badly. He
is
recovering, and I have no intention of leaving until he wakes up. Why don't you curl up against him? Your presence may help steady him."

Jen nodded, tears threatening again.

Another hour passed. Jennifer lay with her arm around Peter's body, her forehead gently pressed to his cheek, worrying and praying. There was a slight sound and Peter inhaled a little deeper.

"Peter?" she whispered and stroked her fingers gently on his chest. She could feel the sluggish wave of confusion and physical discomfort as he was struggling toward consciousness. Seated on a stool a few feet away, Trevor was taking his turn keeping watch.

"Keep talking to him and keep touching him," Trevor suggested.

"Peter, it's Jennifer. Come on, honey, wake up for me. Let me know you're okay. I'm worried about you."

She pulled his hand to her face and kissed his fingers.

His fingers flexed a little and his eyelids fluttered, but didn't open more than a fraction. Peter's lips moved and he made a sound that might have been a word. She could sense that he was fighting to compose a thought.

Jennifer kept on rubbing her fingers against his skin, face, hands, arms.

Peter lay breathing, eyes just barely open for a few more minutes before he mumbled, "Dy…ing."

"You're not dying Peter. You'll be fine," Jennifer said, kissing him gently and hoping she wasn't lying.

"Belle…so bad…" Peter whispered.

"She didn't make it," Trevor said sadly. "And you have been scaring the fucking crap out of me, and everybody else here."

"Feel… sick."

"Yeah, I'm not surprised. Craig thinks you're apt to feel like you got hit by a bus for the next couple days.

Your blood glucose tanked down to forty-six. You've been unconscious for more than three hours."

"Couldn't… tried… couldn't save… tried so hard…"

Peter's voice was a tight hoarse whisper and Jennifer could feel the grief and frustration churning his tiny amount of emotional control into near hysteria.

"Shh, it's okay. You risked yourself trying to save her. You did everything possible. I don't want to lose you, too," Jennifer murmured and hugged him a little tighter. His eyes squeezed shut and a few tears seeped from the corners. She lovingly brushed them away with her thumb. She knew if he had had enough energy he would have cried. Instead, he slowly went limp in her arms again. Trevor's hand circled Peter's wrist, checking him.

"It's okay. He's in normal sleep now. Flat out exhausted but just sleeping," Trevor assured her.

Jennifer brushed Peter's hair back off his forehead and placed a careful kiss there. Belatedly, she thought of Danny. It was five thirty in the morning and Danny was in Chicago, where it was an hour earlier. Would it do any good to wake him up and tell him Peter was injured, for lack of better description? Probably not, she’d be better off waiting a couple of hours.

***

Carefully easing away from the spot where she was curled beside Peter in the hospital bed, Jennifer stood up to stretch. He had woken just briefly, an hour after the first time, fingers weakly clutching at her arm. She saw the little flits of memory of Peter watching Craig trying to shock Isabelle back to life, and felt the anguish. Peter sank back into sleep with Jennifer cradling him in her arms.

He still looked incredibly pale. It was morning and Craig and Trevor were satisfied that Peter was stable.

They had shooed Sandra off to bed and Trevor was napping sprawled across another bed. Craig was on the far side of the room near the desks, talking to Stephen Benford.

Jennifer noticed that it was now almost eight and as she began to consider calling Danny, the phone vibrated in her pocket and she dragged it out. The display said D.

Valentine.

"Hello," she said with a little apprehension.

Delivering bad news was hard.

"Hey Jen, have you seen Peter this morning? I tried his number a couple of times and even tried the phone in his room via the switchboard. No luck."

"He's in the infirmary."

"I tried that number too, but all I got was voice mail."

"No, he's in the infirmary as a patient," Jennifer said.

There was silence at the other end.

"What happened?" Danny asked.

"Really late last night, a helicopter brought some lady named Isabelle here. I heard that she'd been hurt really badly on an assignment. Peter was bent out of shape that they were transporting her here rather than sending him there. I don't really understand the details but she died.

Craig, Trevor and Sandra, they were all working on her but… nothing. Peter was doing his thing. As best I understand from what Craig told me, he burned out.

Something like used up so much energy he collapsed.

He was unconscious for three hours. He's hooked up to IVs and monitors and stuff now, but for a little while even Trevor and Craig seemed pretty worried."

There was such a long silence from the phone that Jennifer almost thought they'd been disconnected.

"Fuck," Danny said softly.

"Craig thinks Peter's stable now. He regained consciousness for a few minutes around five thirty, and then he woke just briefly an hour later. I don't know if he's totally out of danger, but everybody seems to be pretty calm and just keeping an eye on him now."

"Please… Are you with him?" Danny asked. His voice sounded tight.

"Less than two feet away. I spent a couple hours holding him. Craig seemed to think it was helpful."

"God. My plane doesn't leave until eight tonight. I can't get back there until the early hours of tomorrow morning."

"Try not to worry too much. Like I said, he seems to be stable. I really should have called you last night, but I was so focused on him. And it was oh-dark-thirty, I didn't think it would be helpful to wake you and tell you about all this when you were so far away."

"It… it would have been okay, but I see your point.

Damn… What exactly does stable mean?"

"From me, the art teacher, whose medical knowledge is kind of minimal, he's exhausted and sleeping. They've got him hooked up to IVs and monitors and Trevor and Craig are checking his vitals every hour. I got the impression they expect Peter to sleep most of the rest of the day."

"When he woke up, was he coherent?" Danny asked.

"Sort of. He was a little disoriented and then really upset about the woman's death."

"If he wakes… When he wakes up… If he's feeling okay enough, can you have him call me?" asked Danny.

The sheer stress in the man's voice made Jennifer wish she could reach through the phone and comfort him.

"I will. I'll call back in a couple hours anyway, and let you know if anything's changed."

"Thanks."

"We'll be waiting for you when you get back."

***

It might have been a voice that woke him, or maybe just a sound. Peter felt his body jerk and his first thought was that he should be trying to pour more energy into Isabelle's failing nervous system. There was nothing left to give, and his breathing hitched unevenly. A warm hand cupped against his cheek. It was soft and familiar.

"You're okay. Just try to relax," said a female voice.

Jen.

Peter opened his eyes slowly, trying to sort reality in manageable chunks for his brain. His body felt leaden and weak. He could feel the IV line in his arm and the pulse-oximeter clipped to his finger. Jennifer was curled on the edge of the hospital bed beside him, looking tired and concerned.

Little flits of memory waged war in his head and he remembered feeling Isabelle dying under his hands.

Peter squeezed his eyes shut. His breathing hitched again and he felt torn between wanting to pound his fists against a wall and wishing he could curl into a ball and try to forget the sensation of feeling Isabelle die. In the background, one of the monitors was stuttering with the erratic rhythm of his pulse. A hand closed on his wrist, and he felt the sharp analytical prod of Trevor's mind push against his. In combination with being pulled into the worried, almost frantic embrace of Jen's arms, Peter's body began to calm.

"Peter, look at me. Let me know you're holding it together at least a little bit," said Trevor. Forcing his eyes open, Peter met Trevor's gaze. "Do you know where you are?"

"Infirmary," whispered Peter.

"Do you remember what happened with Isabelle?'

"Yeah."

"Count to a hundred for me by fives."

"Huh? Oh…" Peter slowly realized Trevor was trying to make sure there was no obvious cognitive damage, and so he counted.

"Beyond feeling absolutely wiped out, anything else strike you as off or bad?"

Peter sluggishly drew on his healing senses and let them skim down through his body.

"Just… so weak. Doubt I could stand up," Peter answered. He was probably missing something, but couldn't place it.

"Don't even think about it. Last thing you need is a face plant on the floor. Are you up for some food?"

"Maybe one of the protein shakes."

"Mmm, yeah that's probably a good idea." Trevor left, undoubtedly to dig through the infirmary fridge where Peter usually kept them. Peter curled against Jennifer's body a little closer, one hand tightening in the fabric of her shirt.