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Roy rested his arm across the stainless steel tray beside the treatment bed and watched Dixie open another packet of gauze.
"I think it's clean enough, now."
"I'm going at it again.
"Dix, there isn't going to be any skin left."
She raised her eyebrow at him and pour antiseptic over the gauze anyway. He still hissed when she brought the gauze to the little puncture wounds on his hand.
"Oh, don't be such a baby," she muttered. "You're a paramedic."
"That doesn't make it not sting."
"How did this happen anyway?" She asked as she worked the gauze over his hand no less thoroughly than she had been the first two times.
Roy looked over at Johnny, swinging his long legs as he tossed a roll of tape up in the air and caught it. He narrowed his eyes at Johnny's happy-go-lucky air. Dixie followed his gaze for a second and then back to her work.
"What? Johnny bit you?"
"No. The raccoon that Johnny insisted was just an innocent little baby, sucking on his shirt." Roy sounded completely disgusted.
"Hey, it was—"
Brackett's entrance into the room interrupted whatever Johnny was going to say in his own defense. His expression seemed a bit more serious than warranted in the situation.
"Well, I just got off the phone with animal control. The raccoon will be tested for rabies. The brain tissue is being sent to the county laboratory."
Johnny's head snapped up. "They killed Jimothy?"
"You named it?" Roy frowned at him.
"Well, yeah…" Johnny slouched in his seat. "It was just a baby."
Roy shook his head over Johnny's all too quick attachment to the wild nuisance and then turned to look at Dr. Brackett.
"So how long will the test take?"
"We may have preliminary results later today. Maybe tomorrow. Until then, public health recommends beginning post-exposure treatment immediately."
Roy sighed. He'd already figured that, which was why he was so frustrated in the squad on the way here. Brackett continued.
"If the test comes back negative, we just discontinue treatment, no harm done. If it's positive, we finish. Twenty-one daily injections followed by two boosters."
Roy took his arm from Dixie and the gauze, and he started to stand from the treatment bed.
"Where do you think you're going?" Dixie pushed him right back down.
"I'm going to find another raccoon. Make sure it bites the right person, this time," Roy growled, but stayed sitting when Dixie's hand remained.
Brackett shooed Johnny off of the stool and pulled it in closer to Roy and his hand. Johnny stayed back, safely out of Roy's reach.
"There are two parts of treatment today, the first day. First is the immune globulin. This will provide some temporary antibodies before your body starts responding to the vaccine." He held onto Roy's hand and pointed. "I'll infiltrate as much as possible here, directly into and around the bite."
Roy looked at the puncture wounds and shrugged. It was small. It seemed easy enough.
There was a knock at the door, and Dixie pulled her hand away to get it. She returned with a tray full of syringes. That was not an exaggeration.
"How many of those are for me?" Roy asked.
"All of them," Dixie answered with a grimace.
Johnny leaned over and whistled. "Those look pretty big."
Roy glared. "You can leave."
"Ha, not on your life."
"I'm going to kill you when this is—goddamn!" Roy had to force himself from jerking his hand right out of Brackett's grip. He hadn't even realized they'd started until the sudden pain startled him. "Why does it hurt?"
"Oh yeah… this may hurt," Brackett said as an afterthought.
By the end, Roy had a few globulin shots in his hand, and the rest went into his hips. Then the actual vaccine went into his abdomen. He was sore and angry, and he was going to kill Johnny.
The next morning, Roy came by himself in for the second injection after his shift was over.
"Yesterday's injection site looks a little red," Dix murmured, giving him a quick inspection. "Any unusual reactions?"
"It's a little itchy, and the globulin sites throbbed all night."
"Mmm…" Dixie wrote it in his chart, but didn't seem concerned. "Unfortunately, both of those are pretty common. And that is one of the reasons we rotate injection sites."
Roy sighed and layed back on the exam table so Dixie could clean a new injection site. It burned going in, but he could deal with a little bit of annoyance once a day.
"Two down," Dixie smiled.
"Don't count, please," Roy groaned. Johnny had spent most of the other night trying to make 21+2 seem like a smaller number than it was, and Roy was sick of hearing about it.
Dixie taped a cotton pad over the injection site and pulled Roy's shirt back down over it. "You know the routine. Sit in the waiting area for about fifteen minutes before you go home. If you develop itching that spreads beyond the injection site, let us know. If you develop hives, dizziness, trouble breathing, nausea, or—"
"Dix. I got it. I'll be fine. I know what to watch for."
"Great, then get out of my room so I can make room for a real patient," She smirked dryly up at him as he stood.
He sat for the required time with an outdated magazine, absently reaching under his shirt to scratch and being stopped by the cotton and tape. Then he waved goodbye and went home.
By that night, his joints felt stiff and achy. He had one hot water bottle he rotated around the achiest parts of his body while he watched some cowboy movie on tv.
Johnny was smart enough not to try to call or stop by for a visit just yet. Roy was still annoyed at him.
He took some aspirin and went to bed early.
When Roy went in for the third injection, Brackett was the one administering it that day and he noted the second injection spot's redness.
"Yeah, Dixie said the redness and itching were normal."
"Common, not normal." Brackett corrected. "Try not to scratch. We don't want to deal with an infection on top."
"Yes, Doc." Roy nodded. "What about the aching?"
"Aching?"
"Stiff joints, feeling like I'm about twenty years older than I should." Roy rolled his shoulders as he said it.
Brackett narrowed his eyes and paused before he slowly nodded. "That can also be common. Muscle aches, fatigue, nausea. Problems pop up when it gets too much. If you can get by with some aspirin and resting, I don't think it's cause for alarm."
"Great. Just what I was hoping to hear the day before another 24-hour shift at the fire station."
"We'll be seeing you every morning, so we'll keep an eye on it. You do the same. Don't play stupid games with your own health." Then Bracket motioned for Roy to bend over, with the next injection going in his backside.
"Sit for fifteen minutes and then go home. Ice or heat, whichever helps you feel better, you can use. Take your temperature if you feel off."
"Thanks, Doc."
Roy dipped out after ten minutes instead of fifteen. His whole body ached after a couple hours, and he ran himself a hot bath to soothe his sore joints and muscles. He contemplated ways he could murder Johnny and get away with it as he soaked in the hot water.
He forewent taking his temperature because he figured it would read high after a hot bath.
Then, in bed that night, he wondered if he could get Johnny to tape oven mitts over his hands like a little kid with chicken pox. To keep from scratching at the injection site on his back.
"You look like roadkill," Johnny blurted out as soon as Roy entered the locker room the next morning. He was running late because he had to stop for his shot beforehand.
"Thanks. It's your fault," Roy grumbled.
"Me? What'd I do? I avoided you our whole two days off."
"I couldn't sleep because of the side effects from the shots that I have to take because you had to mess with a raccoon." Roy shoved his locker open harder than necessary.
Johnny watched a little more meekly than he had been a few seconds ago. "You still mad at me?"
Roy breathed through his nose and closed his eyes.
"No."
"You sound mad."
"I sound sore, and tired, and frustrated, and sore—"
"You already said that."
"—and itchy, and sore." Roy finished. He pulled his shirt off, hissing as the fabric dragged across the previous injection sites in various states of irritation and healing.
"Do you need help?"
"No. If I can't get dressed, I'd have no business being here. I'm fine. Just sore. Everywhere. It's normal. Common. Whatever." Roy would never admit that his voice sounded almost whiny. But lord, he wanted to whine. And it had only been four injections so far.
Johnny frowned faintly, sitting in his own locker and watching Roy. "You sure you don't want to call someone in to work for you?"
"I'm fine. I'm not sick, just… feel like crap."
"You look flushed."
Roy answered by opening a bottle of aspirin and dumping a few pills into his hand, which he then swallowed dry. "There. Let's get to work."
The day dragged on, and Roy found it harder to keep focused. His knees protested every time he crouched to get on level with a victim, even worse when he tried to stand up after. His thigh was itching like crazy where that morning's injection had been. His head hurt, and he couldn't decide if he was feeling too warm or too cold.
If the emergency room hadn't been so busy during a patient handover, Roy was pretty sure Dixie would have restrained him for a check-up. But he was able to escape before she could do anything aside from frown and chew her lip at his appearance.
On the way back to the station, Johnny had been surprised when Roy got in on the passenger side and told Johnny to drive. Apparently worried more than surprised because as soon as they parked in the engine bay, the back of Johnny's hand was on Roy's face. His forehead and then cheeks.
He hadn't even realized he'd closed his eyes for Johnny to get the jump on him. He must have been more tired than he realized.
"You're warm."
"Maybe you're just cold." It was a stupid comeback, but Roy was too miserable to think of something more clever. He opened the squad door and dragged himself to the day room, with Johnny following not too far behind.
"Hey, you two are just in time for chili!" Chet announced from the stove.
The mild nausea that had been sitting in the background reminded Roy that he was not hungry. And the thought of sitting in those hard wooden chairs sounded miserable.
"I think… I'm just going to take a nap." Roy turned around and headed back through the engine bay to the dorm room instead.
It must have been a slow night because the next time Roy was brought back to awareness was when Johnny told him it was time to change for bed.
"I'm already in bed."
"In your daytime uniform. Just take it off. I already set your turnout pants and boots by the bed for you."
Roy cracked open his eyes and looked at the foot of the bed. Sure enough, Johnny had done that for him.
"Fine." He only moved enough to shrug out of his work shirt and kick the pants off his feet to the bottom of the bed, which had Johnny chuckling beside him.
Roy couldn't bring himself to care. As everyone bedded down for the night, he was hot and aching, and the latest injection site was swollen and throbbed with his pulse. He was uncomfortable and miserable.
And eventually he was asleep again.
He awoke to hands on him. And voices whispering.
One hand wrapped around his wrist, fingers pressed against his pulse. Another touched his forehead, it felt blessedly cool, and slid down along his cheek and neck.
"Johnny?"
"I'm here."
Roy opened his eyes. Johnny was bent over him, and Cap stood not far behind in his boxers and undershirt. Chet approached holding a thermometer.
"What's going on?" Roy mumbled. Johnny's fingers tightened on his wrist, and his eyes were on his own watch.
"You're burning up."
Roy blinked slowly. That didn't make sense. He was freezing.
"Put this in your mouth." Johnny took the thermometer from Chet and stuck it under Roy's tongue.
He almost fell back to sleep while he held it there, but then Johnny pulled it out and relayed to Cap, who then spoke into a phone receiver. No, the biophone.
"Biophone?" Roy asked.
"Yeah. Sorry, Pally, you're going to Rampart with this. 104.3 and your pulse is 128."
"That doesn't sound right," Roy muttered.
"You're right, it doesn't. Rampart says transport asap," Cap informed them. "You want an ambulance or—"
"I can ride in the squad. I'm fine." Roy protested, trying to save some of his dignity.
Johnny and Cap looked at each other before Johnny asked, "Can you even stand?"
Roy wasn't even sure he could sit up, but he pushed himself up anyway. Every muscle in his body protested, and his elbows felt like rocks instead of joints, and the entire world seemed to shift like it was on a boat.
"Oh, god," he moaned, shutting his eyes against the motion.
He breathed through his nose, trying to settle the dizziness. Then Johnny reached round his back and pulled him up the rest of the way. He let himself lean against Johnny and forgot to be embarrassed as he let his head fall into the crook of Johnny's neck.
"'S okay, just take it slow," Johnny murmured. Roy breathed against the side of his neck until the motion settled and he didn't feel like he'd fall over. Johnny's skin felt cool against his forehead. God, his head was hot, his body was freezing, he just wanted to stay right there, but Cap was saying something, and Chet was pushing boots onto Roy's feet.
Everyone seemed to be moving around him in a quiet coordination that he wasn't part of, and then he was being lifted with his arms over Johnny and Mike's shoulders for support.
"I hate this."
"I know, Pally. I'm sorry."
He hurt with every step. His knees felt mushier with every step. He was so tired, he found himself leaning heavier into Mike than he meant to. When they reached the squad, he let himself be shuffled in and then he actually lifted his head and looked around.
"Where're we going?"
Hands around him all paused. He looked at the accompanying faces. He'd asked the wrong question.
"Hospital," Johnny answered, slowly. Carefully.
Roy frowned. "We get a call?"
"Buddy, you are the call," Mike said, patting him on the leg before closing the door. Roy looked down and noticed his leg was bare, and he was only in boxers and an undershirt.
Oh.
In that case, he leaned back and let his eyes close. He thought it was just for a moment, but he opened them again when he felt cool hands on his neck, cradling his head.
"Dr. Brackett?"
He was greeted with a tight smile. "Let's get you out of this seat and into a different one, Roy."
He didn't get to leave the hospital that night.
"No, I'm afraid we're going to keep you today as well." It was the next morning, and Brackett was sitting at the foot of Roy's bed, explaining Roy's captivity.
"But the fever eventually came down."
"Yes, with aggressive cooling measures. And since you have to continue receiving the vaccinations, I want you monitored here. It may have been a fluke, it may not have been."
Roy slouched in the bed. His memories from the night before were very fuzzy. Johnny had been there at one point before going back to work. He remembered the shivering making his aching muscles hurt worse.
"If I bite Johnny, does he have to get the vaccine series?"
Brackett laughed in surprise. "Even if he did, most people don't end up back in the hospital from reactions to the shots."
"Damn."
The injection that day led to more aching muscles and joints, a giant red knot that itched on all sides around it, and eventually another fever.
He lay panting, staring at the ceiling that seemed to swim above him. He couldn't move. He hurt too much. He couldn't sleep. He didn't even have the energy to cry. There were still more than fifteen days left.
"How you—oh Roy." Johnny appeared in the doorway, but Roy couldn't turn his head to look. The room would spin too much if he did. He let Johnny do the moving and come to him. "You're burning up again?"
Roy nodded weakly, the tiniest movement, to not make things worse.
"When's the last time someone was in here?"
Roy didn't know. He couldn't answer. Time and everything just seemed to melt into one giant mess, and he couldn't keep track. So he just sighed.
He must have lost track or fallen asleep again because next thing he knew he was being swarmed by hands and cold things. Even the IV in his arm felt colder. And where'd Johnny go?
"I'm right here."
Oh, he hadn't realized he'd asked out loud, but it was comforting to have Johnny's voice so close to him anyway.
By day… Roy was certain it was 524, but Dixie insisted it was only day 15, he developed another reaction.
The fever was ever present now, mild during the day and usually reaching its peak in the evening, only brought down just in time for Roy to get a nap before the next shot. He tried to get in as much sleep as he could, but the pain all over his body made it difficult.
"What's taking so long?" He didn't mean to sound like a grump, but he was a grump. Still, Dixie was only trying to help.
"Just trying to find a good injection site… we're running out of real estate with the way you react to them." She ran her gloved hands over his skin. Welts and knots, bruising and redness. She finally settled on the least irritated-looking area and injected there.
"There, all done."
"For today," Roy muttered.
Dixie stripped off her gloves and dropped them in the garbage can. "How's the nausea?"
"Still sitting in the background."
"Headache?" Dixie picked up his chart and started writing.
"Not as bad as yesterday," Roy answered as he reached up to scratch his ear and rub at his neck.
Dixie's pen stilled.
"What?" he asked.
She pointed at him with her pen. "That. What's that?"
"I'm always itchy."
"At the injection site. Where are you itchy now?" She dropped the chart on the mattress and started examining him.
"My head, my ears… my hands actually. And—"
Dixie pulled the collar of his gown down a bit and then jogged straight for the doorway. "Kel!"
He was going to ask what she'd found, but then he realized it was getting harder to pull in a good breath. His throat felt tight. No, his chest, no his—everything.
Brackett was there quickly.
"Can you breathe?"
"Yes," Roy wheezed, his answer sounding labored as each breath whistled behind it. He could technically still breathe, just not well. "No."
Brackett put Roy's bed flat, and he tried to resist, to stay sitting. Didn't want the weight around his chest to get heavier.
"Lie flat, Roy. Now." Brackett ordered. Dixie was already putting a blood pressure cuff around his arm. Somebody placed an oxygen mask over his face, which he instinctively flinched away from until his senses caught up with him.
He knew what was happening, in the back of his mind, he was trained. But it didn't make it less scary to have your air cut off like it was.
"Epinephrine. Now."
He barely noticed the needle. Maybe it went into his IV? Or maybe there was too much going on at once. The room was getting a little fuzzy and dark.
"82/48," Dixie said. Roy knew that wasn't good. That was too low. Maybe if he went to sleep, he'd wake up feeling better.
"Antihistamine is in. Pressure's still dropping."
"Epi again."
A few seconds later, Roy's heart was slamming hard enough to make him gasp. His eyes shot open. He forgot that he hadn't been able to breathe a moment ago, his heart was going a mile a minute and his hands were shaking, and he was sure he was dying for a different reason this time.
"Good, keep breathing," Brackett said.
Roy stared at him with disbelieving eyes as he gasped behind the mask. The lights in the room seemed to pulse with his heartbeat.
Then the exhaustion came back again, even as his heart was racing and he wanted to crawl out of his skin. His eyes were so heavy.
"No, stay awake."
"Tired."
"I don't care."
That almost made Roy laugh. If he weren't working so hard to stay alive.
Brackett listened to his lungs. "Well, you're moving air. We just need to add anaphylaxis to the chart."
"Does that mean we can't continue the shots?" Roy asked, breathlessly.
"I'll talk to the health department and see what they recommend."
Keep moving forward, the public health department had said. As long as the anaphylaxis can be managed and monitored, it's more survivable than rabies.
"So… we just keep going and hope I don't die?" Roy asked.
"We administer antihistamine with the vaccine, and we keep epinephrine drawn up and ready, oxygen available, and at least one of us stays in here for the first hour after the injection. But… yes." Brackett nodded. "It's not perfect, but it's what we have."
They administered the injection as planned, they were able to stop the hives before they reached his neck. He could still breathe.
His heart raced. His hands shook. And the fever climbed by the end of the day again, leaving him shaking and confused and miserable.
The hours blended together.
And the days blended together. Injections, sometimes he could breathe and sometimes he couldn't, the epinephrine always left him shaking, then it would fade before the fever spiked. The fever and the cooling measures left him shaking again. And he was always sore, his muscles always ached.
He was pretty sure he'd rather be back in Vietnam rather than do all this again.
By the end of the 21 daily shots, Roy had lost fifteen pounds and he was pretty sure his sanity as well.
"Why can't I go home?"
"Can you even stand?" Johnny asked before Brackett could answer.
Roy honestly didn't know if he could, actually. He just knew that yesterday was his last daily shot and he didn't have another one coming that morning.
"You're still running a fever. I want you fever-free for 24 hours before I'm comfortable sending you home after all the bad reactions you've had. And when you come back for your boosters, you'll be admitted overnight because we already know you react badly."
Roy huffed in annoyance. He wanted his bed. He wanted his blankets, his pajamas. He wanted quiet and warm lights instead of the cold hospital room.
And he was looking forward to making Johnny wait on him hand and foot. His partner had been at the hospital most of the days, just feeling guilty as heck once it got bad. He was going to milk that guilt because biting Johnny wasn't an option.
Yet.