Sam fic: "Bad Step" Part 22, rated PG
Sam has been lying there a long time. I'd better get moving, or he'll never get better!
I'm sorry for everyone who's been waiting patiently for so long. It's time to get on with:
Dr. Brockhouse arrived later that
afternoon. Frodo heard the commotion at the front door, and ran to let him in.
He arrived to find Dr. Brockhouse already in the foyer, with the gallant Will
in attendance, helping to maneuver his bags and a couple of long poles through
the door.
Frodo instantly seized a bag to help
them along. "Is that it?" he asked, eyeing the smooth poles warily.
"This should do the job,"
the doctor said, guiding Will inside. He spared Frodo a glance. "How's Sam
doing?"
"Better," said Frodo.
"He seems to be more comfortable."
"I'm glad to hear it. He's a
long road in front of him." The doctor shook his head sympathetically.
"We'll just have to take his recovery one step at a time. With luck, you
won't need these for more than a few weeks."
"Weeks?" Frodo stared at
the poles, suddenly disliking them more than ever. "Sam will have to be
connected to that-whatever that is-for weeks?"
"The fracture is mild,"
Dr. Brockhouse said reassuringly. "We'll maintain traction long enough to
make sure Sam isn't permanently disabled." Suddenly, he looked concerned.
"Will it inconvenience you, Mr. Baggins, having Sam here so long?"
"Oh, no, not at all! Please
don't misunderstand. It's just that... weeks." Frodo paused. "I
knew that Sam was hurt, but somehow, knowing that his convalescence will
stretch out for so long... It's somehow unnerving."
Dr. Brockhouse nodded. "I quite
understand. However, Sam is lucky to be alive at all after what he's been
through. We must give him a little time."
"Of course." Frodo bit
back his words, wishing he could tame his guilt so easily. "Right through
here. Not that you're likely to get lost..."
Will nearly managed it anyway,
despite Frodo's words. He was keeping such a sharp lookout for May that he
might have walked into a wall, had Frodo not been there to direct his steps
properly to the bedroom. As it was, they made it through the hall without a
misstep, probably because May was still down at the Row, and was not at hand to
distract her beau.
Marigold and the Gaffer were inside
the guest room, hovering over Sam as usual. Ma Twofoot greeted the new arrivals
with relief. "Ah, it's good to see ye," she cried, coming round the
bed.
"How's our patient?" Dr.
Brockhouse asked, spreading out his paraphernalia at the end of the bed.
"The leg is warm and the toes
not too swollen," Ma reported. "His fever's come down a little as
well."
"Excellent!" Dr.
Brockhouse positioned himself at the foot of the bed. Sam was not properly
under the covers; they had simply tossed blankets across him as necessary to
give themselves room to work while trying to keep Sam warm. The doctor
therefore had only to shift one of the blankets aside to be looking at Sam's
feet. Carefully he grasped each of Sam's ankles in his hand, and gently drew
them towards him. He nodded, obviously pleased.
Ma was looking over his shoulder.
"Aye, they're nearly the same length."
"Very little deformity,"
Dr. Brockhouse agreed.
"What does that mean?"
Frodo asked anxiously. The word deformity had an ominous ring.
Dr. Brockhouse remained cheerful.
"It means the break is not as bad as it might have been." He opened
his bag and began removing a variety of straps. "The thigh bone is the
strongest bone in the body. It takes a lot of force to break it, but when it
does go, the big muscles in the leg have a tendency to pull the bone awry. What
we must do-" He rose, and gestured for Will to come forward with the
poles. "-is contrive to pull the leg straight, so the bone heals cleanly
in its natural position. Otherwise, one leg may end up shorter than the other.
Sam might limp, or have pain associated with the injury for the rest of his
life."
The Gaffer looked grim, sponging
Sam's forehead with a damp cloth. "We can't have that. Sam's a working
hobbit. He must have the use of his legs."
"Never fear, Gaffer Gamgee. I
think I can safely assure you of his future mobility."
Frodo breathed a sigh of relief. Whatever
the Gaffer's fears, Frodo could easily see that Dr. Brockhouse's reassurance
was genuine. Sam would get well and walk again-probably without a limp. This
was such good news, when contrasted against the horrendous anxieties of the morning,
that Frodo felt limp taking it in. Weeks suddenly didn't seem so long, when the
rest of Sam's life was at stake.
Dr. Brockhouse and Ma Twofoot were
busily engaged in attaching various straps and crossbars to the poles that Will
had brought in. Ma turned towards Frodo. "We'll want padding," she
said quietly. "The softest fabric you can spare."
Frodo thought over the contents of
his press. "Flannel?" he hazarded.
Ma nodded. "That will do."
Frodo slipped out of the room,
relieved to have something to do besides nervously watch the healers prepare for
their arcane procedure. He headed for the press in one of the storage rooms,
for his winter wardrobe was already squirreled away. He closed the door behind
himself.
Sam's indisposition was making Frodo
quite the master of subterfuge. He already had in mind the nightdress he
intended to sacrifice. It had been worn only for one season-long enough for the
flannel to have grown soft without wearing out. It was a bold holiday print of
blue and red checks, a gift from Cousin Merry. Well, Merry wouldn't mind. He
was a bit of a dandy; he would enjoy choosing something new with which to deck
out his more understated cousin.
Frodo cut the nightdress in two,
just under the armpits. For good measure, he split one of the side seams. He
held it out, pleased. That thing looked more like a tablecloth than an article
of clothing. Feeling smug about his new role as secret supplier of useful cloth,
he returned to the bedroom.
Ma and Dr. Brockhouse had
constructed something that looked like a pair of crutches. One pole was longer
than the other, and each pole sported a V-shaped curve at the top. The two
poles were joined at the base with a crossbar and a complicated-looking series
of ties, no doubt constructed from Dr. Brockhouse's straps.
The pair of them turned when Frodo
entered the room. Frodo held aloft his flannel prize. "Will this do,
Mistress Twofoot?"
"Mercy!" Ma cried. "I
didn't mean for you to go and cut up your best nightdress!"
Frodo felt his face warm. So much
for his conceit of being a master of deception. "I wasn't using it,"
he responded lamely.
"Not this time of year, you
weren't," Ma said tartly, taking the cloth from his hand. Her eyebrows
bobbed. "My, that is soft. Thank you, young master. That will do
nicely."
Mollified, Frodo watched Ma measure
and snip the cloth, then wrap a generous pad around the fork at the top of each
pole. This done, Ma and Doc maneuvered the splint over Sam's leg. The longer
pole nestled into Sam's armpit. The shorter pole they gently eased into his
groin, taking care that the padded notch rested on bone. Frodo winced,
anticipating the discomfort if the pole were to pinch anything... soft, in that
area. But the healers seemed to know what they were doing.
Dr. Brockhouse divided half his
remaining ties with Ma, and then the two of them worked their way up the
splint, securing the poles loosely to Sam's body to hold them in place. When
this was done, Dr. Brockhouse slipped a loop around Sam's ankle, then tied the
end to the crossbar at the bottom of the contraption, which extended a good
hand span beyond Sam's heel. Finally, he inserted a short rod into the tail end
of the wrap that was attached to Sam's ankle.
He looked up at Ma. "Here we
go."
Gently, he started twisting the rod.
This had the effect of putting tension on the loop of cloth around Sam's ankle,
drawing his heel towards the crossbar. As Dr. Brockhouse tightened, Ma
anxiously watched the seating of the poles against Sam's body, making sure they
fitted snugly without pinching anything.
"How are we doing?" Doc
asked, concentrating on Sam's heel.
"Keep going," Ma
responded.
"Not too much pressure on the
shoulder?"
"I expect not; it's seated well
against him."
Frodo found himself biting his lip, then
looked up to find Marigold and Gaffer Gamgee doing the same. It made him want
to laugh, but he was too nervous. He emitted a sort of worried puff, then went
back to staring.
"That will do," Doc said
abruptly. "Marigold, Hamfast, come here."
The Gamgees nervously hurried round
to the foot of the bed. Frodo made room for them, then spent his time leaning
one way and then another, trying to see over their shoulders.
"What we've done," the
doctor explained, "is help hold the bones straight against the pull of his
leg muscles. See how the injured leg is slightly longer now than the well
one." He drew out Sam's other leg to demonstrate. "You don't need to
put any more tension on the leg than that. In fact, too much might aggravate
his shoulder injury. Now, over time, these wraps will tend to loosen. When you
see that happening, just twist this lever like so." He gave the short rod
a partial revolution. "That will tighten the wrap and make the leg
straight again. If the cloth starts to give out from the strain, just go ahead
and put in new loop around his ankle. You want to make sure the cloth lies flat
all round and is seated against the bone like this."
He moved aside to let them inspect
and feel the arrangement he had set up. Frodo craned his neck, trying to see as
much as he could.
Dr. Brockhouse stood back, and swept
a hand through his curly hair. "Well, now, is everyone comfortable?"
Marigold and Gaffer Gamgee nodded
with wide eyes.
"Very well," said the
doctor. "Now let's take a look at what else might be distressing
Sam."
"There's more?" Frodo
hadn't meant to cry out quite so loudly. Everyone turned towards him with a
surprised expression. Feeling his face warm, Frodo hastily backtracked.
"What I mean to say is, haven't we been doing that all day? Looking after
his hurts? Just how much more of Sam do you expect to be injured?"
"There's his ribs, for one
thing," said Marigold quietly.
"That's right, young
master," said Ma Twofoot briskly. "We need to make sure that Sam is
as easy as can be. We wouldn't want this contraption to put any more strain on
him than we can help."
"And he's in generally poor
condition," Dr. Brockhouse added, "as you might expect of someone who
has spent three days and nights without a sip of water or a bite of food. We
must ensure that hasn't led to any unforeseen complications."
Frodo felt the warmth in his face
increase. "I see. That is, I realize that. It's just..." He looked at
the pale face propped against the white pillow. Sam looked so terribly young.
Frodo cleared his throat. "I'm not used to Sam being so hurt. Please
forgive my ignorance about his care."
Ma patted his arm encouragingly.
"There, Master, there's no reason to distress yourself. I wouldn't reckon
a young master like you would have need of any of these skills in the ordinary
way. You likely never had anyone to nurse in the whole course of your life
saving yourself-isn't that so? Whereas me-why, my pack of young ones haven't
given me a rest in the course of twenty years! If a body isn't hurt, it's
remarkable around my place."
Ma's smile and manner put Frodo at
ease. He strove to compose himself. "How may I be of assistance?"
Gaffer Gamgee stepped forward.
"Master, you've done more than enough, if you don't mind my saying. You've
given Sam a place in your home, and provided such comfort as we'd never be able
to contrive for him at the Row. If you did naught more for him than you did by
going down into that hole and helping to rescue him with your bare hands, I'd
be forever in your debt. No, Master." The Gaffer's eyes shined with
emotion. "I'd say you've done enough already, and then some."
Frodo was startled by the Gaffer's
forwardness, yet couldn't bring himself to make any reply. Everyone was watching
him so kindly, the gratitude plain in their eyes. Despite their evident warm
feelings, Frodo couldn't help but come to the conclusion that he'd been
dismissed. Nodding jerkily, he backed a step towards the door. "I'll let
you get on with it, then," he said.
Ma turned towards her patient, her
attention already refocused. "Thank you, young master. We shouldn't be
more than another hour or two."
Dr. Brockhouse moved up Sam's other
side. "We'll call you if we need anything."
"Thank you."
The group closed about Sam. With
quiet words and evident efficiency, they began to examine the less-critical of
Sam's wounds.
Still walking backwards, Frodo
neared the door. "I'll check on the level of groceries," he said.
Marigold hastily looked up.
"Daisy and May are seeing to that-at least, inasmuch as what Sam needs.
You needn't trouble yourself about that, Master."
"That's very kind of you,"
said Frodo. "But it won't hurt to give the pantries a good going over in
any case."
"As you like, sir. Just don't
let us get in your way."
She returned to the intent group
that surrounded Sam, murmuring earnestly. Feeling strangely bereft, Frodo left
the room and quietly closed the door.
Continued in Part 23
For a complete list of entries, see the Bad Step chapter listing.
I'm sorry for everyone who's been waiting patiently for so long. It's time to get on with:
Dr. Brockhouse arrived later that
afternoon. Frodo heard the commotion at the front door, and ran to let him in.
He arrived to find Dr. Brockhouse already in the foyer, with the gallant Will
in attendance, helping to maneuver his bags and a couple of long poles through
the door.
Frodo instantly seized a bag to help
them along. "Is that it?" he asked, eyeing the smooth poles warily.
"This should do the job,"
the doctor said, guiding Will inside. He spared Frodo a glance. "How's Sam
doing?"
"Better," said Frodo.
"He seems to be more comfortable."
"I'm glad to hear it. He's a
long road in front of him." The doctor shook his head sympathetically.
"We'll just have to take his recovery one step at a time. With luck, you
won't need these for more than a few weeks."
"Weeks?" Frodo stared at
the poles, suddenly disliking them more than ever. "Sam will have to be
connected to that-whatever that is-for weeks?"
"The fracture is mild,"
Dr. Brockhouse said reassuringly. "We'll maintain traction long enough to
make sure Sam isn't permanently disabled." Suddenly, he looked concerned.
"Will it inconvenience you, Mr. Baggins, having Sam here so long?"
"Oh, no, not at all! Please
don't misunderstand. It's just that... weeks." Frodo paused. "I
knew that Sam was hurt, but somehow, knowing that his convalescence will
stretch out for so long... It's somehow unnerving."
Dr. Brockhouse nodded. "I quite
understand. However, Sam is lucky to be alive at all after what he's been
through. We must give him a little time."
"Of course." Frodo bit
back his words, wishing he could tame his guilt so easily. "Right through
here. Not that you're likely to get lost..."
Will nearly managed it anyway,
despite Frodo's words. He was keeping such a sharp lookout for May that he
might have walked into a wall, had Frodo not been there to direct his steps
properly to the bedroom. As it was, they made it through the hall without a
misstep, probably because May was still down at the Row, and was not at hand to
distract her beau.
Marigold and the Gaffer were inside
the guest room, hovering over Sam as usual. Ma Twofoot greeted the new arrivals
with relief. "Ah, it's good to see ye," she cried, coming round the
bed.
"How's our patient?" Dr.
Brockhouse asked, spreading out his paraphernalia at the end of the bed.
"The leg is warm and the toes
not too swollen," Ma reported. "His fever's come down a little as
well."
"Excellent!" Dr.
Brockhouse positioned himself at the foot of the bed. Sam was not properly
under the covers; they had simply tossed blankets across him as necessary to
give themselves room to work while trying to keep Sam warm. The doctor
therefore had only to shift one of the blankets aside to be looking at Sam's
feet. Carefully he grasped each of Sam's ankles in his hand, and gently drew
them towards him. He nodded, obviously pleased.
Ma was looking over his shoulder.
"Aye, they're nearly the same length."
"Very little deformity,"
Dr. Brockhouse agreed.
"What does that mean?"
Frodo asked anxiously. The word deformity had an ominous ring.
Dr. Brockhouse remained cheerful.
"It means the break is not as bad as it might have been." He opened
his bag and began removing a variety of straps. "The thigh bone is the
strongest bone in the body. It takes a lot of force to break it, but when it
does go, the big muscles in the leg have a tendency to pull the bone awry. What
we must do-" He rose, and gestured for Will to come forward with the
poles. "-is contrive to pull the leg straight, so the bone heals cleanly
in its natural position. Otherwise, one leg may end up shorter than the other.
Sam might limp, or have pain associated with the injury for the rest of his
life."
The Gaffer looked grim, sponging
Sam's forehead with a damp cloth. "We can't have that. Sam's a working
hobbit. He must have the use of his legs."
"Never fear, Gaffer Gamgee. I
think I can safely assure you of his future mobility."
Frodo breathed a sigh of relief. Whatever
the Gaffer's fears, Frodo could easily see that Dr. Brockhouse's reassurance
was genuine. Sam would get well and walk again-probably without a limp. This
was such good news, when contrasted against the horrendous anxieties of the morning,
that Frodo felt limp taking it in. Weeks suddenly didn't seem so long, when the
rest of Sam's life was at stake.
Dr. Brockhouse and Ma Twofoot were
busily engaged in attaching various straps and crossbars to the poles that Will
had brought in. Ma turned towards Frodo. "We'll want padding," she
said quietly. "The softest fabric you can spare."
Frodo thought over the contents of
his press. "Flannel?" he hazarded.
Ma nodded. "That will do."
Frodo slipped out of the room,
relieved to have something to do besides nervously watch the healers prepare for
their arcane procedure. He headed for the press in one of the storage rooms,
for his winter wardrobe was already squirreled away. He closed the door behind
himself.
Sam's indisposition was making Frodo
quite the master of subterfuge. He already had in mind the nightdress he
intended to sacrifice. It had been worn only for one season-long enough for the
flannel to have grown soft without wearing out. It was a bold holiday print of
blue and red checks, a gift from Cousin Merry. Well, Merry wouldn't mind. He
was a bit of a dandy; he would enjoy choosing something new with which to deck
out his more understated cousin.
Frodo cut the nightdress in two,
just under the armpits. For good measure, he split one of the side seams. He
held it out, pleased. That thing looked more like a tablecloth than an article
of clothing. Feeling smug about his new role as secret supplier of useful cloth,
he returned to the bedroom.
Ma and Dr. Brockhouse had
constructed something that looked like a pair of crutches. One pole was longer
than the other, and each pole sported a V-shaped curve at the top. The two
poles were joined at the base with a crossbar and a complicated-looking series
of ties, no doubt constructed from Dr. Brockhouse's straps.
The pair of them turned when Frodo
entered the room. Frodo held aloft his flannel prize. "Will this do,
Mistress Twofoot?"
"Mercy!" Ma cried. "I
didn't mean for you to go and cut up your best nightdress!"
Frodo felt his face warm. So much
for his conceit of being a master of deception. "I wasn't using it,"
he responded lamely.
"Not this time of year, you
weren't," Ma said tartly, taking the cloth from his hand. Her eyebrows
bobbed. "My, that is soft. Thank you, young master. That will do
nicely."
Mollified, Frodo watched Ma measure
and snip the cloth, then wrap a generous pad around the fork at the top of each
pole. This done, Ma and Doc maneuvered the splint over Sam's leg. The longer
pole nestled into Sam's armpit. The shorter pole they gently eased into his
groin, taking care that the padded notch rested on bone. Frodo winced,
anticipating the discomfort if the pole were to pinch anything... soft, in that
area. But the healers seemed to know what they were doing.
Dr. Brockhouse divided half his
remaining ties with Ma, and then the two of them worked their way up the
splint, securing the poles loosely to Sam's body to hold them in place. When
this was done, Dr. Brockhouse slipped a loop around Sam's ankle, then tied the
end to the crossbar at the bottom of the contraption, which extended a good
hand span beyond Sam's heel. Finally, he inserted a short rod into the tail end
of the wrap that was attached to Sam's ankle.
He looked up at Ma. "Here we
go."
Gently, he started twisting the rod.
This had the effect of putting tension on the loop of cloth around Sam's ankle,
drawing his heel towards the crossbar. As Dr. Brockhouse tightened, Ma
anxiously watched the seating of the poles against Sam's body, making sure they
fitted snugly without pinching anything.
"How are we doing?" Doc
asked, concentrating on Sam's heel.
"Keep going," Ma
responded.
"Not too much pressure on the
shoulder?"
"I expect not; it's seated well
against him."
Frodo found himself biting his lip, then
looked up to find Marigold and Gaffer Gamgee doing the same. It made him want
to laugh, but he was too nervous. He emitted a sort of worried puff, then went
back to staring.
"That will do," Doc said
abruptly. "Marigold, Hamfast, come here."
The Gamgees nervously hurried round
to the foot of the bed. Frodo made room for them, then spent his time leaning
one way and then another, trying to see over their shoulders.
"What we've done," the
doctor explained, "is help hold the bones straight against the pull of his
leg muscles. See how the injured leg is slightly longer now than the well
one." He drew out Sam's other leg to demonstrate. "You don't need to
put any more tension on the leg than that. In fact, too much might aggravate
his shoulder injury. Now, over time, these wraps will tend to loosen. When you
see that happening, just twist this lever like so." He gave the short rod
a partial revolution. "That will tighten the wrap and make the leg
straight again. If the cloth starts to give out from the strain, just go ahead
and put in new loop around his ankle. You want to make sure the cloth lies flat
all round and is seated against the bone like this."
He moved aside to let them inspect
and feel the arrangement he had set up. Frodo craned his neck, trying to see as
much as he could.
Dr. Brockhouse stood back, and swept
a hand through his curly hair. "Well, now, is everyone comfortable?"
Marigold and Gaffer Gamgee nodded
with wide eyes.
"Very well," said the
doctor. "Now let's take a look at what else might be distressing
Sam."
"There's more?" Frodo
hadn't meant to cry out quite so loudly. Everyone turned towards him with a
surprised expression. Feeling his face warm, Frodo hastily backtracked.
"What I mean to say is, haven't we been doing that all day? Looking after
his hurts? Just how much more of Sam do you expect to be injured?"
"There's his ribs, for one
thing," said Marigold quietly.
"That's right, young
master," said Ma Twofoot briskly. "We need to make sure that Sam is
as easy as can be. We wouldn't want this contraption to put any more strain on
him than we can help."
"And he's in generally poor
condition," Dr. Brockhouse added, "as you might expect of someone who
has spent three days and nights without a sip of water or a bite of food. We
must ensure that hasn't led to any unforeseen complications."
Frodo felt the warmth in his face
increase. "I see. That is, I realize that. It's just..." He looked at
the pale face propped against the white pillow. Sam looked so terribly young.
Frodo cleared his throat. "I'm not used to Sam being so hurt. Please
forgive my ignorance about his care."
Ma patted his arm encouragingly.
"There, Master, there's no reason to distress yourself. I wouldn't reckon
a young master like you would have need of any of these skills in the ordinary
way. You likely never had anyone to nurse in the whole course of your life
saving yourself-isn't that so? Whereas me-why, my pack of young ones haven't
given me a rest in the course of twenty years! If a body isn't hurt, it's
remarkable around my place."
Ma's smile and manner put Frodo at
ease. He strove to compose himself. "How may I be of assistance?"
Gaffer Gamgee stepped forward.
"Master, you've done more than enough, if you don't mind my saying. You've
given Sam a place in your home, and provided such comfort as we'd never be able
to contrive for him at the Row. If you did naught more for him than you did by
going down into that hole and helping to rescue him with your bare hands, I'd
be forever in your debt. No, Master." The Gaffer's eyes shined with
emotion. "I'd say you've done enough already, and then some."
Frodo was startled by the Gaffer's
forwardness, yet couldn't bring himself to make any reply. Everyone was watching
him so kindly, the gratitude plain in their eyes. Despite their evident warm
feelings, Frodo couldn't help but come to the conclusion that he'd been
dismissed. Nodding jerkily, he backed a step towards the door. "I'll let
you get on with it, then," he said.
Ma turned towards her patient, her
attention already refocused. "Thank you, young master. We shouldn't be
more than another hour or two."
Dr. Brockhouse moved up Sam's other
side. "We'll call you if we need anything."
"Thank you."
The group closed about Sam. With
quiet words and evident efficiency, they began to examine the less-critical of
Sam's wounds.
Still walking backwards, Frodo
neared the door. "I'll check on the level of groceries," he said.
Marigold hastily looked up.
"Daisy and May are seeing to that-at least, inasmuch as what Sam needs.
You needn't trouble yourself about that, Master."
"That's very kind of you,"
said Frodo. "But it won't hurt to give the pantries a good going over in
any case."
"As you like, sir. Just don't
let us get in your way."
She returned to the intent group
that surrounded Sam, murmuring earnestly. Feeling strangely bereft, Frodo left
the room and quietly closed the door.
Continued in Part 23
For a complete list of entries, see the Bad Step chapter listing.