Lessons Learned





Mark shared a glance with Peter and indicated that the matter should be discussed later. The attending watched Peter's lips twitch, but he silently agreed. Mark shoved the cell phone into his lab coat and glanced behind him, seeing that the crowd at the door had left, at least for now. Malik was still standing in the room just in case he was needed, and probably in order to get first hand information to relay to the rest of the staff. 

Peter continued his examination of Carter, prodding for any hidden injuries by testing for tenderness along Carter's abdomen and side. He didn't want to be persuaded by Carter's insistence that he wasn't punched in the stomach or kicked when he was on the floor. It would be just like the younger doctor to continue to shy away or be less than specific when it came to his own discomfort. 

As he felt along Carter's ribcage, he noticed how unaffected the man was to his probing. "Carter, man, I know you'll give me this silent stuff until you explain to me this little incident, but I need you to let me know if there is any pain." 

Upon receiving no response, Peter shook Carter's shoulder lightly. "Carter." After several more seconds of silence, Peter tensed, and called his name louder as Mark took out his penlight again. 

"Carter...Carter!" Peter's voice grew louder in worry rose half an octave, as his friend remained motionless on the bed. 

Malik rushed to the gurney as he realized something wasn't right. He had remained at a discreet distance, but was alarmed by the sudden activity. Or Carter's lack of it. "What's wrong?" he asked. 

"Sudden loss of consciousness," was Benton's frantic reply. 

Peter lowered the bedrail to gain easier access and felt for a pulse. "Pulse has increased...it's 110, from 90 just a few minutes ago." Peter grabbed the blood pressure cuff from the table behind him, where he had discarded it seemingly moments ago. 

Mark lifted each of Carter's eyelids, shining the light into each. "Pupils are unequal, but reactive." Mark said, keeping his voice calm for the benefit of the other doctor. 

"You want me to call for more help?" Malik asked nervously. 

Peter fastened the blood pressure cuff around Carter's limp arm. "No, just make sure you get a room set up for a head CT, now!" Peter shouted, startling the nurse as he ran out. 

"He was just fine a minute ago," Peter mumbled to himself. "BP is 140/110." Peter quickly released the cuff. "I want to elevate him to reduce any potential swelling, can you grab some pillows?" 

Mark nodded, and gathered two pillows from the nearby closet and brought them over to the bed. Peter placed one hand under Carter's head and the other behind his neck, carefully lifted him up. Mark slid one pillow beneath the man's shoulders and one underneath his head. 

"I want an MRI as well," Peter spoke, and locked a gaze with another worried set of eyes. 

"We'll do everything thoroughly, Peter," Mark told him. 

"He could be hemorrhaging, or have a clot or--" Peter was cut off by a the sudden placement of a hand on his shoulder. 

"Peter, look at me," Mark commanded, his hand remaining in contact. 

Benton glanced up, but could not help but gaze back down at the unconscious figure in front of him. After a moment, he stared up at Mark. 

"He probably has a concussion, but we will rule out anything else," Mark told him pointedly. Any confidence he could relay to Benton at this point would be desperately needed. "I hate to tell you this, Peter, but you are still covering the ER. Why don't you go check on things down there, and you can view the test results when I get them back." 

"I'll walk with you there and check the board," Peter answered gruffly, obviously reluctant to leave. 

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx 

Luka Kovac was sitting in the lounge in the darkest corner he could find. It had taken every reasonable and rational bone in his body to properly treat Logan for his head injury. Dave had been helpful, but even the young resident could not control his distaste for whom they were helping. After surveying and assisting in the examination, Luka left when Kerry came in to finish with the sutures. 

He had been panicked when he entered the room, discovering that sonofabitch had attacked Carter, and he could not help but feel responsible for anything that happened to the young man. Luka knew that brooding was not going to do anyone any good, so he sucked in a deep breath and headed back out to confess his role in Carter's scheme. He wanted to let everyone know, so they would not bother Carter about it. Luka just wanted the resident to recover in peace, without any additional stress caused by having to explain his actions to the staff, and namely, to Peter Benton. 

Luka was making his way back when he saw Peter storming into the admit area. Luka noticed how much the staff kept their distance from the surgeon, and Malik had a rather "deer caught in the headlights" expression on his face. The Croatian crept over to the male nurse and asked him in a hushed tone, "Is there something else wrong?" 

Malik watched Peter erase several names off the board and turned to respond, keeping his voice low. "Dr. Carter might have a head injury. He lost consciousness a few minutes after you left. Dr. Greene felt it was better for Dr. Benton to cover the ER until the tests came back." 

Luka closed his eyes in despair. He rubbed at his temples, as the migraine he felt coming on took over his head in full force. As he was massaging his aching head, he heard a commotion and opened his eyes to see Peter staring at him. Upset was not the word to describe the other man's demeanor. It was more like a volcano waiting to explode. 

Peter pointed his finger at Luka's chest and spoke, barely keeping the animosity from his voice. "I told you I wanted him to remain in the ICU under close supervision. That is the last time I let you persuade me or I let you question my decisions." Peter bit his lip to keep from continuing, and slammed one of the charts in his hand onto the. "I have no more patients here. Page me if I'm needed," Peter spoke to Randi, ignoring Luka, and stormed away. 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx 

Peter stepped slowly into the room, making sure he was quiet and unobtrusive. He surveyed the scene before him, his conscious weighing heavier then it had a few hours before. Logan was not seriously hurt, and was immediately transferred to the local jail. He had an appointment with the D.A, who had still been in the hospital at the time. Peter was on his way back to Carter's room when Mark found him and thought he should listen to the tape left in the recorder before handing it over to the police. They went to the lounge where Mark inserted the tape in a waiting cassette player. 

Benton listened to the conversation with a vacant stare, while his imagination took over his mind. At first he was slightly proud when he heard the younger man ask some very interesting questions, obviously piecing together parts of a puzzle that others had not considered. As he heard these little tidbits of information, it occurred to him what exactly Carter was hoping to accomplish. 

So, he figured out some things. Why didn't he point these out to detectives who did not know anything about medicine or hospital policy? As the semi-interrogation continued, he could hear the difficulty that his friend was having and the toll such confirmation was exacting on his health. Then the questioning transformed to taunting and the mental game that Carter was waging, ever so slowly trying to rattle the other man. Carter was trying to piss off the quick-to-anger bastard, and it was working. Then he did it; Logan confessed, and all hell broke loose. It was hard to tell, but a violent struggle apparently broke out, and the result almost had almost exacted terrible price on them all. 

Having heard more than enough, Benton retreated to the ICU. Carter was back on that floor at his insistence. Peter gazed at the monitors connected to Carter, hoping for some improvement. 

The surgeon heard the door open, and Romano walked in ever so quietly, his expression somber and his voice surprisingly sympathetic. "We should be getting the test results in a few minutes." 

Peter simply nodded. 

Romano stood near the edge of the bed, at a loss of what to do or to say to the other doctor. "What are his vitals?" Romano rolled his eyes at such a horrible attempt at conversation, but realized that Peter was too tired to even recognize the lame attempt at small talk. 

"His temp has increased to 100.2, his BP and heart rate have increased also." Peter paused to rub at his chin and continued in a mechanical tone of voice. "He can't have any stimulants, so we were forced to take him off the steroids for his lungs, which only serves to complicate his recovery. Mark said he woke up once for a few minutes during his MRI, but he lost consciousness again. When he wakes up he will not be given any sedatives, so that means he'll be in pain from his strained back and they'll be nothing that can be done about it." 

Romano was not the consoling type, so he had nothing to add to Peter's disparaging words. All in all, the young man was not in critical shape but Robert knew that Peter was upset because of his inability to keep what he feared from happening, so he remained silent, knowing that platitudes would only come across as insulting. Carter was hooked up to an oxygen mask, his face looked slightly flushed, but these were typical symptoms from a blow to the head. Robert heard the door squeak and saw Mark Greene standing on the outskirts of the room with test films in his hand. Not wanting to be left out, Robert told himself to screw the rules and signaled for the attending to come in. 

Mark had already viewed the tests and had consulted others concerning the results. He was prepared for doubts and second opinions, but agreed with the diagnosis. "His head CT did reveal a small clot and some cerebral irritation, but the head of Neuro is very confident that is will resolve itself. It's very small and there is no need for surgery," Mark added while he handing the films to Peter, knowing the man would not be satisfied until he reviewed them himself. 

"Well that's good enough for me, keep me posted. I'm going down to the station to make sure our interests are being looked after correctly this time. Despite what happened, I have to say I'm a bit surprised at our dear Dr. Carter's inventiveness for pursuing his own cause. I wouldn't put it past him to have a secret decoder ring hidden somewhere." Romano looked around and noticed that his co- workers didn't appreciate his sense of humor, so he grunted and made his way out of the room. 

Mark gave the retreating Chief a perplexed look, and noted how unamused his colleague was. Mark shook his head and began to reason with the unhappy surgeon the brighter outlook of things. "Peter, he doesn't have a skull fracture or--" 

"I know all the pros and cons of this diagnosis, Mark," Peter interrupted him. 

While the two doctors continued to debate the issue, they did not notice the patient in question slowly coming around. Carter opened his eyes and squinted from the low amount of light in the room. His head pounded, and it felt like his skull was on fire from the inside. He weakly felt the side of his skull, noticing a new row of neatly sewn stitches beneath his fingertips. Touching the area where he was clobbered only sent new sensations of pain through his head and waves of nausea through his stomach. 

He shifted unsuccessfully in the bed, catching the attention of the bickering doctors in the room. Both Mark and Peter leaned over him, causing him to feel somewhat smothered. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to disengage the feeling of being suddenly claustrophobic. His stomached churned and all the punishment his body had endured the past few days assaulted him all at once with a million dull aches and sharp pains. 

Peter took out a penlight and tested Carter's pupils, receiving a sharp intake of breath in response that only caused his patient to cough violently. The surgeon looked on helplessly as his friend tried to control the coughing while struggling with his intake of oxygen. After the fit had subsided, Peter observed Carter cradle his head. 

"You need to lay still and quietly. That means no getting up, no moving around, and no physical activity of any kind," Peter grilled Carter with an expression that meant his orders would be followed to the letter. 

For his part, Carter silently accepted the Benton doctrine and grimaced, as the pain in his head only seemed to increase every minute he was awake. He felt restless and was sweating, which only served to make feel even more miserable. "Its hot in here." he said under the mask, his voice conveying his exhaustion. 

"You shouldn't talk, Carter." Mark advised him. 

"You have a fever, from what I can not determine. It could be from a possible infection from the dramatic foley removal, or from your injured lungs, or from the concussion..." Peter's voice was getting louder and louder from the fear and anger he had been feeling. 

"I'm sorry," Carter said weakly. 

"Back off, Peter," Mark warned him by placing his hand on the surgeon's shoulder. 

Peter bowed his head in remorse. He didn't want to upset John, he just had to vent his feelings at someone. Carter had placed his life in danger to coax a confession out of a violent man, and he had done it with some kind of help. Patience was not one of his strong suits, and he did not know whether he had should wait for Carter to inform him about what transpired earlier in the day. 

Carter wet his dry lips under the mask and grimaced again at feelings of lightheadedness. Before he had a chance to inquire about the specifics of his injury, his stomach finally rebelled against him. "I'm going to be sick," he managed to say. 

Peter quickly snatched an emesis bowl and held it under John's mouth, while placing a hand under his head. Mark removed the oxygen mask and both men were situated to help as Carter retched in the bowl, but he ended up only coughing up bile since he had been off solid food for days now. His stomach muscles screamed and his chest burned, as he was sick for what seemed like hours. When the nausea pasted, he was gently placed back against his pillow. 

Peter thought his friend looked awful, his face was flushed, and he was developing dark circles under his eyes. Mark left and returned with a wet washcloth, which he handed to the surgeon. Peter placed the moist cloth against John's forehead and bathed his neck. Peter clenched his teeth when he noted the bruising around Carter's windpipe, but kept himself from asking the man if toying with Logan was worth being nearly strangled. 

Peter placed the washcloth on the table, and rested his hand on the bed, leaning his head against it. Carter had fallen asleep. If Peter could not control that Carter's nausea, then his patient would be in danger of further weakening and dehydration. He would make sure that his antibiotics were monitored closely, and he would give him Compazine. Peter felt a bit flustered after momentarily forgetting he was not alone in the room. Slowly he stood up and took the films with him. 

Both men left the room in silence, not knowing what to say to each other. Peter wanted to make damn sure that there would be no other mistakes made regarding Carter's health. He would consult with the head of neurology about the clots and confirm that the medical course of treatment was the safest and most effective. Benton leaned against the wall of the hallway, pondering on how he could determine who Carter's helper had been in all of the recent madness. It had to be someone he could convince or bribe. It could have been a member of the nursing staff, Carter could have just ordered them around, or even paid off in order to get the recorder and phone. 

Mark watched his co-worker's expression transform with each flickering thought. He was at a loss as to how their patient could have gotten a hold of things so easily. `Didn't whoever Carter conned into helping him know the extent of the danger they were placing the younger man in?' Mark wondered. The ringing of a phone interrupted his random musing. Startled, Mark looked over at Peter who was staring back at him. 

It took a moment before Mark realized the ringing was coming from the cell phone in his lab coat. He pulled it out cautiously, as if it were a ticking bomb. He hit the talk key and spoke into it. "Hello?" 

Peter watched intently as Mark talked to the person on the only line. The attending's eyes widened during the caller's portion of the conversation. 

"No, this is not he," Mark replied, his face taking on a shade of red. 

"Yes, I'll be sure to tell him you called." Mark punched the end button on the phone and placed it back in his lab coat. He looked up at Peter, his expression dumbfounded. 

Peter turned and squared his shoulders in order to look as intimidating as possible. "So, who the hell does the phone belong to?" he demanded. 

"Peter, I want you to calm down," Mark asked. 

"Just tell me who they were asking for, Mark," Peter insisted impatiently. 

Mark looked down at the floor and answered, "Luka Kovac." 

Peter grabbed Mark's lab coat pocket and pulled out the incriminating cell phone. "I'll kill him," he said, and violently brushed past Mark on his was to the admitting area.