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Date Posted: 14:20:36 03/04/06 Sat
Author: Sylvia Mohr Bartlett
Subject: FWWATT Chapter 7 Section Seven
In reply to: Sylvia Mohr Bartlett 's message, "FOR WHICH WE ARE TRULY THANKFUL Ch 7" on 13:01:08 03/04/06 Sat

FOR WHICH WE ARE TRULY THANKFUL

By Sylvia Bartlett Mohr

Chapter 7 Workin' My Way Back To You

Section Seven: Another Attempt


Harm woke up to pain. God, he was tired of this merry-go-round. Pain and spasms followed by drugs and nausea; under it all, the fear and the memory of a voice selling his body off an organ at a time. That memory made him force his eyes open, just to be sure he could open his eyes, that the memory was just a memory and not his present reality. The room was dimly lit. He couldn't keep the groan in as the pain continued to worsen.

Sturgis concerned face came into view. The man's hand pressed his shoulder against the bed.

"Hurts." Harm said, trying to keep how badly it hurt to himself. He was trembling from the pain and knew from Turner's expression that he recognized that fact as well.

"I have already pressed the call button, my friend."

"No." The plea slipped from his lips before he could stifle it. "I don't want any more drugs."

His former roommate placed his hand soothingly on Harm's forehead. "Buddy, what happens every time we try to hold off?" Already he could see Harm's lower back starting to be pulled away from the bed as the spasms began to build.

"Sturg, I know, but the meds. They make me sick." Harm's frustration was palpable.

"I know it's tough, my friend, but you have to hang in there."

Bateman came in and understood the situation at a glance. He walked to the head of Harm's bed, opened the IV of versed and watched his watch to time how long to leave it open.

Harm closed his eyes, struggling to overcome the feeling of despair that washed over him. Here we go again, another spin around and up and down on the merry-go-round.

The corpsman explained to Sturgis. "Doctor's orders. The Commander needs to have his first inhalation therapy in just a few minutes. Doc wants to wait until after he has that before he gives him any other meds. Vinkman will be with you in just a moment or two. He tends not to say much. Harm, you know the drill on IT, right?" Rabb nodded and Bateman left the room

Harm was trying to breathe through his growing nausea. He was breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth, but it was a losing battle.

"Basin?" Sturgis removed the O2 mask for him. He felt the basin pressed against his cheek, turned his face towards it and began to throw up again. Fortunately, once he threw up, the nausea abated somewhat. He fell back, his eyes closed, exhausted beyond belief.

The clank and tinkle of machine hanging from a rolling stand alerted him to the presence of the inhalation therapist. He steeled himself to face this next battle.

The breathing treatment was difficult for him. He couldn't get the ball anywhere near the stupid clown and the IT tech seemed impatient and irritated with him. Something about this guy was making him feel terrified. He fought desperately to control the fear, but when the man was rough as he put a mouthpiece in his mouth and yanked the straps holding the mask over his mouth and nose tight; Harm felt confused. The man hadn't said two words to either him or Sturgis. What was this guy's problem?

He heard Sturgis protest. "Hey, don't be so rough with him!"

"The mask has to be tight to be effective. Your friend needs this to work and he's fighting me. Step back and let me do my job, man."

Harm's fear grew. That voice, this man wanted to hurt him. Oh, God. The mouthpiece - he couldn't tell Sturgis. The machine forced air into his lungs. Wait. Everything was graying out. He needed air. It was being forced in to his lungs to a point that hurt his chest, but he felt he was starving for air. He suddenly had a pounding headache. Everything slipped far away. Nothing mattered now. This was a losing battle. He knew he should fight this harder, but…Sarah, I loved you. I'm sorry. I can't hold on...


Mac sat up. She had been resting on the rack in the stateroom, in her t-shirt and gym shorts. Something was wrong. Harm, what? He was afraid. He couldn't get air. He was slipping away. She was losing him. He was telling her goodbye. God, please, no! There was no way she could get to him in time.


Abby was chatting with Gibbs as they made sure the evidence was properly photographed and bagged. "Boss, you were not kidding when you said the Commander was good looking. He's nice, too. Real polite, but he's having a rough time, poor guy. He didn't seem real thrilled that he has to have inhalation therapy, either. Called it the 'dreaded clown', you know that breathing thing. Gibbs, what's wrong?"

The agent's whole body had gone rigid. "Abby, when is he supposed to start inhalation therapy?"

"I think he is probably already having it. Gibbs?"

"Abby, have them send Marine security to the Commander's room." The Special Agent ran, praying he wasn't too late. The only IT therapist on the ship was on the short list of suspects Reyes had given him. He might be Mahlberg's accomplice.


Sturgis did not like the way Harm looked. He had appeared frightened once the tech spoke. Why? He'd had inhalation therapy before and as a pilot he certainly was used to masks. The IT med tech was tightly restraining Harm's wrist against the bed because his friend had fumbled at the mask, trying to pull it away from his face.

Now Rabb had just sagged. He wasn't fighting any more; he barely seemed conscious. Something was wrong, very wrong. Harm's cheeks were cherry red. Carbon monoxide?

Turner moved fast, pulling the tech away from the bed; when the man rounded, clearly ready for a fight, the PK punched him twice hard, with no regret. He ripped the mask off Harm's face and took the mouth piece out. He grabbed the regular oxygen mask, turned the O2 up all the way and put it on, praying as he did. It took too precious long, though it was probably only seconds, but Harm's color improved and his eyes fluttered. He didn't come out of his stupor all the way, but Turner knew deep inside disaster had been averted. The door slammed open.


A wild eyed man in civilian wear with grey hair, closely cropped, stood in the door and looked at the scene before him. "Thank God, you were here. You must be Commander Turner?"

Sturgis nodded cautiously. "And you are?"

"Special Agent Leroy Gibbs, NCIS. This man just tried to kill the Commander, didn't he? You okay?"

"No, I'm not okay. I nearly let my best friend be killed while I was standing here." Turner sagged against the bed.

"You couldn't have known." Gibbs assured him.

"Evidently you did." The black man pointed out, grimly.

"How did you figure it out?"

"Harm was fighting, trying to get the mask off. As an aviator, the only reason he would try to pull a mask off when it was supposed to be on him, is if he either ran out of air or the air was bad. Add to that he was getting very red cheeks."

"Carbon monoxide?"

"That would be my guess. How did you know?"

"Doctor Reyes was concerned about the possibility more on his staff had to be involved than just Doctor Mahlberg. When Abby told me the Commander was starting inhalation therapy at Doctor Studevant's orders, I remembered the only certified inhalation therapist on board was on the short list of suspects he gave me, so I got up here as fast as I could."

Sturgis nodded, his hands busy with Harm as his friend tried to sit up. "Easy Harm. You are okay. Take it easy." To Gibbs, he added. "I just wish I had realized sooner. Harm was frightened. I couldn't understand why. I mean he hates inhalation therapy, but the way he was reacting was over the top. When I saw the redness though…"

Harm moaned. "Sturg, that guy, he - he was..." Sturgis patted his good shoulder, too overcome to speak. He felt ill. Harm could have died with him right there in the room.

Suddenly, Stu was on the other side of the bed from Sturgis, speaking when Turner did not. "Harm, I'm sorry. I had no idea Vinkman was in on this thing with Mahlberg. When Tim told me his suspicions, we got over here as quickly as we could. I need you to try and relax. Breathe as deeply as you can for me." He put his stethoscope in his ears and bent to listen. When he straightened back up, there was a frown on his face. "Tim, get X-ray in here. We need a chest x-ray stat. Get a kit to draw ABG's too. We have to see how much carbon monoxide got into Harm's system. Good thing you got him on pure oxygen right away, Commander." He added, glancing down at the med tech. "Could someone please take out this trash?" He noted the two Marines now in the doorway.

Gibbs pulled the groggy med tech from the floor of the room and shoved him towards the Marines. "Lock him up. Keep him away from Mahlberg or anybody else. No one talks to him until I do. Understood?"

The two Marines nodded. "Yes, sir, Agent Gibbs." They took him away.

Harm was looking up at the doctor, his questions evident. "Harm, you're going to be okay. I'll handle your inhalation therapy myself from now on." Doctor Studevant assured him.

The aviator responded. "That medic? He was in here earlier, with Mahlberg. When he spoke, I knew, but I couldn't tell any one because he'd put the mouthpiece in." He subsided a moment, then added. "Wrist hurts."

Sturgis explained to Stu. "Harm tried to take the mask off and the tech held his good arm down by his wrist."

The doctor looked it over carefully. "It looks like a nasty bruise, Harm. We'll get some ice on it."

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  • FWWATT Chapter 7 Section Eight -- Sylvia Mohr Bartlett, 14:27:00 03/04/06 Sat
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