|
Christopher saw Nicholas pacing up and down worriedly in front of the operating theater. "How is she?" Chris demanded. Nick looked up with relief. "Thank God someone else is here. I don't know what's happening. She's inside the theater -- the doctors say that she's lost a lot of blood and needs a transfusion immediately but there isn't enough of the correct type in the banks here. I can't donate because I've got a different blood type. No one knows where my father is, I've left him several messages -- I hope he gets it ..." "What type blood does Alex… she… need?" Leander asked. "O negative," Nicholas answered. He saw the downcast looks on both their faces. "Don't worry, Dad should be here…" he tried to sound optimistic but there was a resignation in his voice that scared Christopher. Suddenly, Nicolas' eye was caught by someone coming down the corridor. "Dad! You're here!" he called out. The other two turned. Christopher looked at the tall man to whom Nicholas bore a startling resemblance, a man who had Nykki's eyes and hair. He remembered Mason Storm from his childhood, a neighbor and friend he had had never expected to see again. "Nick! How is she?" Mason Storm asked anxiously. His voice was like hers with the same tones and inflections, except that it was lower. "She needs a transfusion, and you're the only one with the correct blood type. I'll get the doctor." Nicholas ran off. Mason Storm looked at the other two distractedly. "I apologize. My name is Mason Storm, I'm the twins' father." He quickly introduced himself . "Lee Westfield," answered Leander, gaping at the man from the textbooks. Mason Storm's career and dramatic death had been well documented in FBI history. "Chris Wilder," Chris said. Mason Storm shook both their hands, then spoke to Chris. "I remember you. The boy next door who was always tormented by Nykki's pranks. I still don't understand why she played those tricks, but who can understand little girls?" He rolled his eyes in an eloquent expression of shared ignorance. "I heard from O'Malley that you're her mentor, I suppose you're paying her back?" Despite his teasing tone, the humor didn't quite reach his flinty gray eyes. The worry in them was evident. Christopher kept his answer light. "Not completely, she still tends to drive me insane." Insane with anger. Insane with worry. Insane with fear for her. Insane with desire. Nicholas was back with a nurse. Mason Storm followed the white-starched uniform to another room.
The next two hours was a torture of waiting. Nykki was finally pushed out of the ward and into a private room. By that time, O'Malley - who had come from his own room, James Wilder, Eric Larssard, Ellie DeWitt, Howard Butz and Lisa Pontini had arrived. They stood in the lobby discussing her condition. Mason Storm was still with his daughter. "What did the doctor say?" Lisa asked. "Not good," replied Nicholas, fatigue dulling his eyes and anxiety clouding his voice. "Fever and that slash… the fever's probably her body's reaction to the blood loss. She's still unconscious." His voice cracked. Christopher continued. "She's got a broken rib-- the doctor thinks that it was cracked at first and later broken, probably from the riot and later aggravated by Brent." He didn't hide his distaste at the name. "It nearly punctured her lung and if we hadn't gotten her here when we did…" His voice trailed off. "Things are under control now, thankfully, but she's very weak, from overwork and lack of sleep. She's been abusing her body, and so recovery will be slow." Leander added his own comments. "She lost a lot of blood." He didn't want to even think about the amount of blood they had to take from Mason just to keep her alive. "The doctors are hoping that she regains consciousness in forty-eight hours. But if she doesn't…" he left the sentence hanging. They all kept quiet, knowing there was nothing they could do, it was all in the hands of God now.
He sat by her bedside, her hand in his. She was silent, she hadn't even moved since she had been brought to the room. The two-day stubble on his chin irritated him, but he couldn't bear to leave her. Christopher looked at the pale figure on the bed, and felt the cold fingers within his palm. He couldn't believe that the still, death-like face he saw on the pillow was the same vibrant, living one he had seen for the past four months. He had taken too much for granted. He was alone. Nick had been persuaded to go back to the academy, but he still insisted on coming to the hospital at least twice a day. The second visit ended a while ago. Mason Storm was with Richard O'Malley in his room on the fourteenth floor. Others had come to visit - her friends, the officers, his father, but all had left long ago. He was obscurely relieved that they had all gone. He wanted to be alone with her. "You can't die," he whispered softly to her, "You can't. I haven't had a chance to kill you for disobeying orders. I haven't had a chance to thank you for saving my life. I haven't had the chance to tell you how much you mean to me. I haven't had the chance to make love to you…" The whispered pleas sounded loud in the room. Time was running out, minutes were ticking by. He brought her slender fingers to his lips and kissed them gently, and continued his silent vigil.
Nykki looked around her, the darkness surrounded her. She pounded on the swirling walls, and shouted to be released at the top of her lungs. There was no reply. In frustration, she kicked her cage and leapt back with a throbbing foot. She felt herself drift further away from reality, further away from those who loved her, and who cared for her. Anger simmered within her and she prowled the walls of her prison. Suddenly, she spotted a frayed seam in the black walls. She walked closer, afraid to believe her eyes, but there it was, a thin, narrow line that would maybe yield if she was strong enough. She pounced upon it with a vengeance. Using her fingers, she gradually widened the crack, light poured into her cell, giving her more light to work by. Then, with a triumphant shout, the seam tore completely, and she was swept out into bright, warm light…
Something caused him to awaken. Groggily, he looked around trying to figure out where he was. The hospital. Nykki. As he thought her name, he looked at the bed. Her silver eyes were open, and she looked disoriented and confused. "Nykki," he said quietly, joy glowing in his eyes, the satisfaction ringing in his voice. "You're awake! Thank God… I thought I'd never see you again. Thank God you're awake." She still looked confused, and so… vulnerable. He examined her face anxiously, looking for signs of recognition. "Nykki, do you remember who I am?" Her voice was soft, barely audible unless he leaned forward. Her laugh astonished him - was her mind gone? he thought anxiously. She laughed again - but this time, he heard the bitterness and hollowness in it, and the uneasy tinge of hysteria. "Remember?" she said. "Of course I remember. I remember how I used to put toads in your lunchpail… I remember how I sneaked hot peppers into your sandwiches. I remember switching salt for sneezing powder… I remember your father scolding me when he found out about the tricks I was playing on his darling son ... I remember how you hit me when you discovered that I was the perpetrator of all the tricks… I remember how my mother… my mother reacted to the first black eye I came home with…" With that last sentence, the dam holding her tears at bay broke. Scenes from her past broke the fragile self-control she had had since her father returned; eight years of pent-up tears pricked at her eyelids. She kept her eyes tightly shut, stubbornly trying to withhold the tears behind them, but they trickled down the corners of her eyes and flowed down her bruised face. She felt gentle arms lift her, cuddling her against a cotton covered chest. An aching voice whispered in her ear. "Cry, sweetheart, cry all you want. Don't hold back, I'm right here. And I've got broad enough shoulders for you to cry on." Those tender words snapped her control, and tears streamed down her cheek. "I remember," she sobbed, "I remember how mum used to welcome me and Nicholas back from school, and give us each a hug and a kiss. I remember how she never managed to make proper meat- loaf, Dad used to tease her terribly about it. I remember…" He gently stroked her hair, unable to say a single word. Words were not adequate. Finally, she lifted her head, and sniffed softly. "Sorry about your shirt," she said, touching the damp cotton, "I don't usually do anything like this." "It doesn't matter - it needs to be washed anyway. And don't be sorry about anything, I actually enjoy having girls cry on my shoulders, it reminds them that I'll around." He grinned, and to his delight, a weak smile answered him. "Feeling better?" "My nose feels like the size of a large apple, and my eyes seem to be permanantly slitted ... …" she suddenly grinned, the wan smile lighting up her gray eyes. "Other than that, I feel okay." "Well, I prescribe a full night's sleep for you." He gently laid her back on the bed and covered her warmly. "Sleep tight love, I'll talk to you tomorrow morning." "Christopher? Can… can you stay with me please?" The pleading in her voice tugged at his heart, and he sat on the same chair he had been in for two days. "There's no other place I would rather be, Nykki. Now, go to sleep." She stretched out her fingers and laced hers between his. Holding his hand against her cheek, she fell asleep.
|