Chapter Text
Coffee is a good thing, Ernie thought as she looked out at the snow tumbling lazily down past the streetlights. The sky was only just starting to lighten behind the overcast. She'd caught a nap for a couple of hours while Carson watched over the three men, but the arrival of Dr. Elliott and a snowplow driver with a sprained ankle had wakened her. She took another sip and composed herself for the morning. Regardless of the weather, none of them were going to be able to get back to San Francisco in time for the morning shift. And with snow still falling, there wasn't going to be a helicopter coming to change that. She would have to call.
The phone only rang once. "San Francisco Memorial, Dr. Jackson."
"Jackpot?"
"Ernie? Gloria, it's Ernie. Ernie, where are you?" Jackpot asked excitedly.
"I'm in Willows, with Trapper, and Gonzo and Stanley and Dr. Whittaker. Didn't she tell you?"
"She might have told Arnold, but all he told us was that Stanley and Gonzo were badly hurt and Dr. Whittaker had had to operate on Stanley. How are they?"
"Well, Gonzo's got chemical burns on his face and eyes, and some frostbite, but he's stable and sleeping." She waited while Jackpot passed that on to Brancusi. "Stanley had an epidural hematoma. He's still unconscious."
"An epidural hematoma? Oh, man. Stanley has a head injury, Gloria. Did Dr. Whittaker get there in time? Is there any permanent damage?" Jackpot was upset, and Ernie could understand why. Jackson was as much Stanley's protege as Gonzo was Trapper's.
"You know how it is with head injuries, Jackpot," she said carefully. "Until he wakes up, we won't really know the full extent of the damage. But Dr. Whittaker seems optimistic. Gonzo had already made a burr hole before Trapper even found them."
"Well, that would relieve the pressure a little," Jackpot conceded. "How long till you bring them back down?"
"I don't know yet. I called to let you know that we weren't likely to be there anytime soon. Can you get enough coverage?"
"We'll think of something. Hang on, Gloria needs to talk to you."
Ernie waited for Gloria Brancusi to come on the line. It only took a moment.
"Ernie? Do you know where the original chart for the Hanlon boy is? We couldn't find it yesterday after you left."
"Sorry," Ernie said, feeling guilty. "It's in Stanley's office, on the desk. I put it down when I was talking to Trapper."
"That's all right," Gloria said. "You had a lot to think about. I made up a temporary."
"Good idea. Gloria, while I'm thinking of it, see if you can't get the records for Stanley and Gonzo. It might be a good idea to have them on hand if we have any questions that need fast answers."
"I'll do that. Anything else?"
"Just hold the fort. When I know anything new I'll call you."
"All right. Bye."
"Good bye." Ernie hung up the phone and tried to think. That was taken care of, now what? Breakfast. The coffee had woken up her stomach and she was ready for something more solid. But what? She went back to the treatment room, where Terry was monitoring the patients while Carson dozed at the desk. "Terry?"
"Yes?"
"Is there a restaurant? I'm hungry."
"Me too," came a sleepy voice from Gonzo's bed. Ernie went over to see.
"Gonzo? How do you feel?"
"I hurt. And my mouth tastes terrible."
"Here, drink this," she gave him some water through a straw and he drank gratefully. "Better?"
"Yeah." He shuddered suddenly and made a grab for her arm that missed. She caught the wandering hand, careful to avoid the blisters. "Ernie? Where's Stanley? Is he all right?"
"He's in the other bed, sleeping," she said, substituting one state of unconsciousness for another. "We're keeping an eye on him." She winced when she said it, but he didn't notice the tactlessness of the remark.
"He's sleeping? He has a head injury."
"He had an operation for that last night," Ernie said. "Trapper did the craniotomy and Dr. Whittaker took care of the hematoma. He has to rest now in order to recover."
Gonzo relaxed a little. "Trapper? And Carson? Are we back in San Francisco?"
"No, we're in a town called Willows. Now you said you're hungry?"
It was the perfect distraction. "I'll say. All I had to eat yesterday was 2 chocolate bars and some melted snow water."
"I'll order some breakfasts sent over from the diner," Terry said. "If you don't mind keeping an eye on things."
"Not in the least," Ernie said.
"Eggs and bacon, please," Gonzo said. "I've been dreaming about eggs and bacon."
Ernie snorted, but she was comforted by his flippancy. While Terry went off to order breakfast she settled into a chair where she could see both Gonzo and Stanley on the beds, and Trapper curled under a blanket on the gurney in the corner. "While we wait you can help me fill in the charts. When did you get hurt, anyway?"
"I'm not sure, exactly. About ten o'clock last....the night before last. I tried to take the pass road, but some big rocks hit the jeep in the hood and did something to the engine. And then when I was trying to figure out what was wrong the whole thing blew up in my face."
"It exploded?" Ernie asked, when he paused thoughtfully.
"Well, something in there did," Gonzo said. "Maybe it threw a rod. I'm not sure. But I got hit by hot radiator water and oil and wiper fluid. If I hadn't been wearing a ski mask it would have been even worse. But Stanley managed to rinse off all of the chemicals using the beer we'd brought up with us."
"He used beer? No wonder your hair smells odd." Ernie awarded Stanley some ingenuity points. Beer wasn't the best choice, but at least it wasn't an irritant. "So he hadn't been hurt at that point?"
"No." Gonzo fidgeted with the bandages on his face. "I'm not sure when he got hurt. He'd just gotten me bandaged up and we'd decided we had to get away from the jeep when the rest of the mountain decided to come down. It was awfully close, Ernie. We just barely made it out of the way, and for a couple of minutes there I didn't even know where Stanley was because we got split up. But he might have been hurt then. He threw up in the morning."
"That doesn't sound so good."
"Well, he said it was because he'd just seen over the edge, and we were pretty high up. Stanley doesn't like heights, much." Gonzo grimaced under the bandages. "I'm just not sure. He could have gotten hurt later, too. We sort of made a sled out of some plastic and slid part of the way down, and it got pretty bouncy. And then later there was this mountain lion that he had to chase off."
"Stanley? Chased off a mountain lion?" She couldn't help but sound incredulous. But Gonzo had barely noticed.
"No, that's not right. I already knew he was at least concussed by the time that happened." Gonzo fussed with the blankets. "But I think it made it worse. Because it was after that that he passed out and went into convulsions."
"Do you know what time that was?"
"No. Not more than an hour before Trapper found us. Maybe even less. I took off the bandages to try to see what I could do, but I couldn't really see," Gonzo's voice cracked. "Stanley promised me my eyes would be all right, Ernie. But I don't think he was planning on me taking the bandages off so soon."
Time for another distraction. "Well, we'll know more when an ophthalmologist gets a chance to look at them," Ernie said in her best soothing voice. "In the meantime, I've got to fill in some of these blanks. Do you have any allergies?"
Gonzo didn't take the bait. "I could feel the bump. And I could sort of see a darker place, but I couldn't be sure," he said, so softly that Ernie found herself drawn across the room to him. "And when I was trying to listen to his heart I found that stupid Swiss army knife in his shirt pocket. They've been doing trephinations since cave man days, practically. It seemed like such an obvious thing to do. But he bled so much!"
"Head wounds always bleed a lot," Ernie told him, untwisting the blanket from his hands and starting to cover him again. But Gonzo pushed the cloth away and tried to sit up.
"Ernie! I could have killed him! How could I have taken that kind of chance with Stanley's life?" There was no holding back the tide. Ernie just gathered Gonzo into her arms and let him cry against her shoulder. "I shouldn't have done it, I couldn't sterilize anything, and my fingers were so cold I could hardly feel what I was doing either," he berated himself until the words turned into inarticulate sobs.
Ernie was going to wait it out, when she heard a step behind her. Trapper was awake, and by his eyes, the sleep had done him a world of good. He put a hand on Gonzo's shoulder and said, "Gonzo," and the younger man stilled into silent surprise.
"Trapper?" Gonzo was a hairsbreadth from the tears, but he waited for Trapper's judgment.
"If you hadn't relieved the pressure on Stanley's brain, he'd have been dead before I ever had a chance to find you," Trapper said, very clearly. "The pressure from the hematoma would have fatally interfered with his autonomic nervous system. And no matter what happens, no matter what kind of complications we might have to live with, I want you to remember that."
"Yes, Trapper," Gonzo said, a little shakily, but he was reassured.
Ernie settled him back onto the bed. "Better?"
"Yeah. Except that now my kidneys are awake. Which way is the bathroom?"
"Not on those feet," Trapper said, remembering the blisters from last night. "I'm afraid it's bedpans for you until some of that frostbite damage heals."
"I know where they are," Ernie said, having gotten the equipment tour from Terry the night before. As she went to fetch the necessary plasticware, she paused in surprise to note that Trapper was headed for the door. "Trapper, where are you going?"
Trapper shrugged, "Hey, he reminded me," he said, and vanished into the hall.
It was just as well, Ernie realized. Gonzo was embarrassed enough already after breaking down in front of Trapper. She took care of the immediate problem and got him settled back on the bed, cranking up the end so he could sit propped up. By the time Trapper wandered back in with Terry and the breakfasts, Gonzo had pretty much gotten himself under control.
"I smell food."
"Well, since you have to eat in here, I thought the rest of us might as well do the same," Trapper said. "I'd like to be able to keep an eye on Stanley."
"How is he?" Gonzo asked.
"His blood pressure is 100 over 80, his pulse is 54," Ernie said, having checked while Gonzo was composing himself. "Both of which are an improvement over twenty minutes ago. But we're on the second to the last unit of blood Slocum sent up."
"Has he regained consciousness at all?" Trapper asked.
"Well, he pulled a face when we were checking his feet this morning," Terry said. "Dr. Whittaker said that was good." She set up a tray table in front of Gonzo. "Here, eggs and bacon as ordered. Open wide."
"I can manage," Gonzo protested, blushing.
"Not with the frostbite on your fingers still in the delicate stage," Terry said. "Open."
All of a sudden it was just too much. Ernie said, "Excuse me," and went out. The hall was too narrow, and she went on, until she was standing on the porch, letting the snow flutter down onto her hair. She found a broom and started sweeping. She swept the porch clear, working her way down even through Terry's packed down footprints and then started on the ramp. After a time, she heard the door opening and glanced up long enough to see Trapper standing there. He waited, and she bent over the broom again before she asked, "What kind of complications, John?"
"Infection, another hematoma. Gangrene from the frostbite. Paralysis. Blindness. Personality changes. Indecisiveness. Amnesia." Trapper didn't soften it. She appreciated that. Trapper was always honest with her. "He still might die on us."
"And Gonzo? What about his hands?" Ernie swept harder. "What about his eyes? If Stanley dies, Gonzo might have lost everything for nothing." Trapper came down and took the broom from her, setting it back on the porch with one hand while he pulled her into the hug she needed with the other. "It's just that I haven't gotten over the last time, yet," Ernie said into his shirt. "First we almost lose you, and now Gonzo and Stanley..."
"I know, I know," Trapper said. "But we'll do the best we know how to do. That's what you did when I got hurt, and I'm fine now." He patted her shoulder. "And we'll start by having some breakfast. The day always looks better with a few calories in it."
------
By the time everyone, including Dr. Whittaker, Dr. Elliott, and the snowplow driver, who was waiting for his cast to set sufficiently hard for traveling, had gotten some breakfast, the sky had brightened as much as it was going to. But the snow was still coming down, even though cars inched their way along the main street and the muted roar of plows could be heard from the nearby highway. Mollie turned up in mukluks and an ancient parka, and she and Terry and Ernie started setting the place to rights and sterilizing the used equipment. Trapper checked over Gonzo and Stanley a little more carefully after he'd had his morning coffee, and got Dr. Elliott to take a look at the frostbite and Carson to look at Stanley's head. Then they sat down to debate whether or not to try to get Stanley and Gonzo down to San Francisco Memorial.
"According to the weather report, it's going to snow until late afternoon," Elliott said. "But it's not going to be windy, and the temperatures down at the lower elevations are warm enough to turn the snow into rain closer to town. The highway is right next door, and it's plowed down to the pavement."
"I want a CAT scan on Stanley as soon as I can get one," Carson said. "But I'm not thrilled with the idea of a bumpy three hour ride in an ambulance. If he'd just come to, or if his vitals would improve, I'd be a lot happier. Is there any chance we could get the chopper back?"
"I don't know," Trapper said. "I can ask Arnold when I call him. What about Gonzo?"
"Gonzo can wait," that worthy contributed from his bed. "You concentrate on Stanley, Trapper. I'll live."
"How's the pain?" Carson asked.
Gonzo shrugged. "Painful. And my hands and feet itch as well as hurt."
"Frostbite does that," Dr. Elliott agreed. "I'll get Mollie to put some more aloe on them. I'd recommend minimum use of the damaged areas for about three days. Longer if they show any sign of infection."
"But he's okay for an ambulance ride," Trapper said.
"Yes. But if you can get a chopper for one you might as well fly back both," Elliott pointed out. "We're just not equipped for extended intensive care, and the nearest eye specialist is in Sacramento. It's not that I mind the company..." he shrugged.
"No, I want to get them back to San Francisco myself," Trapper said, much relieved by the consensus. "But I needed an objective opinion. Arnold isn't going to want to spend the money on a chopper if he can avoid it."
"Won't Stanley's father pay for it?" Carson asked.
It was Trapper's turn to shrug. "Probably. But I wouldn't bet on it. He expects Stanley to cover his own expenses." He put his glasses back on. "But I'm covering all of the phone calls," he said, looking at Elliott.
Dr. Elliott grinned and held up his hands, "All right," he said. "I'll send you a copy of the bill. But don't forget that you covered for me the other night."
"With as much talking as this is likely to take, it'll probably come out even." Trapper said sourly. He wasn't sure he was looking forward to coaxing Arnold.
But Arnold, to Trapper's surprise, didn't require coaxing.
"I've already talked to the pilot, and he says as long as they can plow the place where he landed yesterday it should be possible."
"That's great, Arnold," Trapper said, "You'll need to get Matthews in, if he's available. And Willard, for Gonzo's eyes. And tell ICU we're coming. Have you gotten a hold of Stanley's father yet?"
"I've left messages at his hotel, but so far there's been no response," Arnold said, sourly. "I understand the old goat went off on an excursion with some bimbo named Tookie the other day and hasn't done more than send his chauffeur over to pick up a few clothes and a bottle of wine."
"Typical. If you reach him, tell him ... Aw, hell, Arnold, I don't know what you should tell him. Until we can get a CAT scan or Stanley wakes up, I've got no way of knowing how bad the damage is. His chances of survival are better than they were last night, but I'd be lying through my teeth if I told you that he was out of danger."
"Do you think Stanley needs his father to be here?" Arnold asked.
"I think Stanley would want that, yes," Trapper said. "I'm just not sure whether or not old man Riverside cares enough about Stanley to come."
"He cares enough about his image," Arnold growled. "I've already got the press on my back about this. If it will help I can let Riverside Senior know that he is going to get a lot of publicity making him look like a horse's ass until he shows up."
Trapper snorted. "That would probably do it. Go ahead, then, Arnold. But try not to lose your job over it. I'm going to need your help getting coverage until we know if...know when Gonzo and Stan will be all right."
"Right." There was an awkward silence. Then Arnold said, "Well, I'll get that chopper started. See you soon, Trapper."
"See you soon."
They were bundling Stanley up for the helicopter trip when he started to talk. At first it was just a mumble, but after a few minutes it got clearer. "Gates. Hurt. Find Gates." Ernie tried to reassure him, but Stanley didn't seem to hear.
"Stanley, it's all right. We have Gonzo safe with us."
"Find Gates," Stanley repeated. "Hurt."
"Here," Gonzo said. "Get me over closer to him."
Trapper grabbed the ends of the gurneys and swung them next to each other. "Be careful of your hands, Gonzo."
"Here, you touch him and I'll talk," Gonzo said. "Stanley, it's Gonzo. I'm right here. Trapper found us Stanley. I'm right next to you."
"Gonzo," Stanley said,
"Here, Stanley, I'm right here." "Hurt." Stanley said, but he seemed to calm down a little. "John?"
"I'm here too, Stanley," Trapper said. Stanley quieted for a few minutes, but then he began to ask for Gonzo again. It was hard, because he still wasn't responding to voiced commands, although he seemed to hear it when Gonzo answered him. They got him packed into the Stokes stretcher for the trip and he began a mumbled monologue that seemed to have something to do with asthma.
Carson Whittaker paused to take a sip of coffee and shook her head with a small wry smile. "I should have known Stanley would be a talker."
"A talker?" Ernie asked.
"As opposed to the silent type. You never know which one you're going to get when someone is in a coma."
"But isn't it a good sign?"
Carson tipped her hand in a gesture of uncertainty. "It's better than where he was, but we're still a long way from home. Sometimes head injury cases talk for days, but we lose them anyway." She shrugged uncertainly. "You've got your car up here, don't you?"
"Yes, why do you ask?"
"Well, I've been thinking. There's nothing I can do on that helicopter ride better than Trapper can do it, and Mathews, who is the best head injury man in the state, will be waiting once they're on the ground, so maybe it would be just as well if I stay here and get a little sleep and drive back and you can fly back with Stanley and the others." Carson tipped her head and looked at Ernie from under a fringe of hair. "I'd be careful."
"Oh, that would be perfect," Ernie said, much relieved. "I didn't want to ask, but I'd feel a lot better if I can stay with them."
"And I'd feel better if I didn't have to take another helicopter ride," Carson said. "I've never been fond of them, and yesterday only reminded me of why. Besides, I think your voice is more likely to calm Stanley down if he gets fractious. Mine would probably just agitate him."
Ernie put a hand on her arm, comfortingly, "I doubt that. If I know Stanley, he's long forgiven any pain you might have put him through. He's good at that."
"Perhaps," Carson said, with a smile tinged by bitterness. "But if he hasn't it's likely to come out while he's babbling. And on the whole, I think I'd rather not know either way."
"Are you afraid he's still angry with you, or that he isn't?" Ernie asked.
Carson Whittaker shrugged. "It doesn't matter, does it?" She looked at Ernie directly now, her lips tightening into a determined line. "There isn't much point in my tearing opening old wounds, not when he needs all his strength just to survive. He's better off with the people who know him best."