Chapter 34 - Do not go gentle, Part III

"No, Mom, I have to stay with my friends," Mimi protested with hands fisted at her sides.

Mrs. Lockhart sighed. Her daughter had always been stubborn and frankly overindulged. Hence, the perpetual whine in her tone. Her mother sighed again. She wished that her husband were here. He was so much better with Mimi. "Mimi, you can come right back. Right after we get you cleaned up," she said, taking another horrified look at the jeans caked with blood.

Mrs. Lockhart had nearly fainted, when she'd first found her daughter. Luckily, her astute friend Jason quickly explained that Mimi was unharmed and the blood had come from helping to care for their injured schoolmates, until paramedics arrived. Then, on the teens' adamant insistence, followed the mad dash to the hospital in the Black family car. Mrs. Lockhart had inquired after Jason's absent parents, but the boy simply shrugged and said that he'd call them from the hospital. Now, it would seem news about their friend Shawn would not come for a while. For her own sanity, Mimi's mother wanted to purge as much of this awful day from her daughter as possible.

"I'm fine, Mom," said Mimi earnestly, before she looked over at Belle, who lay her head on her father's lap. Her friend looked so small and fragile clutching the hand of her father. Mimi turned back to her mother. "I'm a whole lot better than a lot of people right now. So, I'm gonna stay here with my friends. Belle and Shawn need me."

"Mimi," sighed her mother at her wit's end.

"Your mother's right, dear," said Shawn's great grandmother from behind, "Go home and get some rest. We'll look after Shawn and Belle, until you get back. We all know how much they mean to you."

"Go on, Mimi," added Jason quietly. He'd sat along with his friends, while the waiting room filled with frantic families. An hour had already passed, while the doctors and nurses scrambled to treat more cases than they could handle. Shawn's loved ones waited anxiously, as doctors in bloodstained scrubs came and went from the waiting room. In their wake too often were left wails of sorrow, piercing the charged air like knives. Even Jason, whose exterior was normally blasé no matter the circumstance, was getting edgy, as the minutes dragged on. Seeing Mimi stained in blood was not helping his composure either. "Go on home for a while and get cleaned up, Meems. Besides," he said with a sad attempt to smile, "Dude deserves some serious eye candy after a day like today."

She didn't know, whether she wanted to laugh or weep at that silly statement. But she knew that she was grateful. "Are we talking about Shawn or you here?"

Jason gave his signature shrug in reply, in addition to a much-needed smile.

Sighing, Mimi looked from Jason to Mrs. Horton to her mother and back to Jason. He nodded his head in encouragement.

She reluctantly agreed. "How about you?" she asked Jason.

He managed another shrug. "I guess I should get cleaned up, too." He felt no need to reexamine his own bloodstained clothes.

"Jason," said Mrs. Horton, "Where are your parents, dear?"

"Yes," said Mimi's mother, "Did you get a chance to call them? I'm sure they're worried sick about you." Knowing exactly how they must surely feel, Mrs. Lockhart drew her daughter closer to her.

He shrugged again. "I guess I'd better get home, then."

A while later…

"Mr. and Mrs. Brady."

Shawn's parents leapt to their feet, eyes wide, terrified, haunted by past yet still painfully recent grief. Belle pulled from her father's protective hold and rose, stepping closer to listen with trepidation.

"Mr. and Mrs. Brady," repeated the weary doctor, who motioned them to take a seat with him, "You son has sustained a serious concussion. So, we'll have to observe him for the next twenty-four hours, in order to monitor his condition. His head CT and MRI came back normal, so there's no sign of skull fracture or brain damage. We're guessing that he must have struck his head - on the corner of his school desk or chair, perhaps - after the bullet grazed him. The wounds to his temple and the tip of his ear resulted from the bullet graze and were relatively superficial. He needed some stitches. And he may also have some scarring on his ear. We've also treated the wound on the base of his skull. We'll keep it iced to reduce the swelling. All in all, your son is young and fit, and prognosis looks very optimistic."

Hope shook her head, trying to process the deluge of information. "So," she trembled, "Doctor… does it mean that Shawn's going to be ok then?"

"The majority of concussion patients make a full recovery. So long as they rest and allow sufficient time to heal. Your son should refrain from any vigorous activity, such as sports, for the next three months. But, yes, Mrs. Brady, your son should be fine."

Gasping, Belle jumped into her father's arms and closed her eyes over joyous tears. "Shawn's going be ok, Daddy. Shawn's going to be ok."

"Oh, thank God," cried Hope, turning to embrace her husband in relief.

With his own tears threatening, Bo turned back to the doctor, "So, when can we see him?"

"We'll be moving him to a private room shortly," replied the physician, who knew as most of the hospital staff did that Shawn Douglas Brady was also a Horton. "You'll be able to see him very soon. He's expected to wake up at any time. However, we've given him medication for the pain, so he may be slow to respond." Just then his pager beeped. The dutiful doctor looked down at the message and said, "Excuse me," and quickly headed off to his next patient.

"Oh, Bo," cried Hope, holding her husband tight, "Our baby's ok."

"Yeah, Fancy Face," he comforted softly and kissed her forehead, "Our boy's gonna be just fine."

"Honey?" Nancy knocked on her daughter's bedroom door once more. She waited a while longer, knowing from repeated experience how Chloe valued her privacy. When intruded upon, her daughter hissed like a cornered feline. But today was different, thought Nancy with concern.

Finally, she had no choice but to take the risk, so she turned the knob and opened the door. Bearing a tray of food, she entered her daughter's room. Nancy frowned.

There she lay. Just as she'd lain hours before.

"Chloe? Honey?" She cautiously approached the bed. Perhaps, Chloe was taking a nap. But when Nancy drew closer, she saw that those blue eyes were open. Inwardly weeping, Nancy flashed her sunniest smile. "I've brought you some lunch… Baked potato soup, no bacon bits, just how you like it. And I fixed you a garden salad with that lemon vinaigrette dressing you like so much." Then, she removed the linen napkin with the panache of Vanna White and revealed a pretty bowl of fruit. "Fresh cantaloupe, honeydew, and berries. I know how you love to have fresh fruit with every meal. Chloe?"

Her daughter didn't respond. She barely blinked. Those beautiful blue eyes were wide and transfixed, as if caught in some paralyzing thought. Or nightmare.

Clutched to her chest was her treasured teddy bear - the first teddy bear she'd ever had - that her very first boyfriend had won for her during her first trip to the amusement park. Not a night went by that the plush toy didn't accompany her in dream. Now, like a child, Chloe rested her chin on that soft sandy-colored fur and stared out blankly.

Her mother closed her eyes and bit down on her lip, concern rising by the millisecond. "Ok, honey," she said, fighting back tears, "I'll just leave this here." Her voice trembled, as she set the tray on her daughter's desk, "You can help yourself, when you're up to it." Then, Nancy turned back to the bed to stroke her daughter's forehead and laid a kiss there. "I love you… my beautiful little girl."

Rising, Nancy took a silent breath, before she slipped out of the room and shut the door quietly behind her.

After masterful persuasion, Bo led his wife for a bite to eat in the hospital cafeteria. Not long after settling into his private room, their son had come in and out of consciousness, reacting to the mixture of fatigue and medication. However, Shawn D. was alert, when the nurse arrived to quiz him on the number of fingers she held before him and his current address. They'd explain to him what happened and assured him that everything would be alright. Thus, with growing confidence in their son's recovery, Bo reminded doting Hope that they hadn't eaten in nearly twelve hours. Shawn would need his parents at their best, when he was fully awake and grinning that famous Brady grin. Finally, Hope relented and left Belle - their son's trusted girlfriend - to stand watch, while they were gone.

Alone finally with him, Belle sat at his bedside and stroked his hand. Unlike Mimi and Jason, no amount of coercion could make her leave Shawn. She'd explained that as a candy striper, Belle knew exactly where everything was and felt perfectly comfortable using the facilities. Of course, she'd also wept hysterically. So, her father returned to the penthouse for fresh clothes, and she would shower later at the hospital.

Still stroking his hand, she looked down at him. As she did so often during these past hours, she memorized every detail of his beloved face. His wavy dark locks fell over his forehead, when normally he'd gel the thick mop back in a slick James Bond kind of way. His thick lashes fluttered in drugged sleep. His breathing was slow and deep. And as she did repeatedly these past hours, Belle sighed in relief.

After the medical team cleaned him up, he was left with stark white bandages on his temple and upper ear and a thick compress for the back of his head. Nurses shifted him, so he rested on his side with several pillows to support his neck and back.

"Oh, Shawn," she whispered, raising his hand to her lips. Then, rubbed her cheek against that wide palm. She blinked, when his fingers flexed gently against her skin. Her blue eyes looked up to see his chocolate brown crack open.

"Hey," he croaked weakly.

"Hey," she replied, trying to control the ever-threatening tears, "Welcome back."

His eyes opened and closed sluggishly from the medication. "Where's Mom and Dad?"

"They stepped out for a sec, but they'll be right back. So, you're stuck with this blond chick for a little while," she retorted, trying to lighten the moment.

He smiled drowsily. "Always had a thing for blondes. Especially pretty ones… with goofy hair… who physically abuse me."

Even as her breath hitched, she gave a watery chuckle. Only Shawn could make her laugh at such a moment. "Shawn Douglas Brady…"

"That's my name," he replied softly. Comforted by her voice, his eyelids drifted shut. "Quick," he sighed, ready to slip into dream again, "Jump into bed with me, before my girlfriend comes back." A breath later he was snoring quietly.

She brought his palm back to her cheek and closed her eyes. "Thank you, God," she whispered in heartfelt prayer. She watched his lashes flicker in slumber. Then, ever so slowly, ever so quietly eased herself onto the bed, until she lay on her side facing him. With loving fingertips, she traced his face, from those strong brows, that Irish nose, down to those teasing lips.

"I love you, Shawn," she said softly, knowing he'd hear her in some way. Because she had to tell him. In one swift, irreparable stroke of fate, she could've lost him, before she got the chance to tell him. "I've always loved you," she whispered.

Then, cushioning her head on her hands, she closed her eyes.

"Night, sweetheart," Craig said softly, before he placed a kiss on Chloe's forehead. He gave her cheek another tender caress, but she didn't respond. At least now, her eyelids grew heavy and she seemed ready to nod off. He thanked God for at least that much, as he tucked her in and turned off the bedside lamp. For he'd come home, after lending a much-needed hand in the ER, and met Nancy in near hysterics.

"Craig, she hasn't said anything since I brought her home. She doesn't eat. She doesn't even seem to move. Oh, Craig…" she'd cried.

Her husband comforted her and said, "Nanc', she's still in shock. God knows what she saw in there today. Give her some time. Our Chloe's a fighter. She'll come out of it."

Our Chloe, he'd said. He didn't know when he'd begun to think of her as his own. But when he'd first seen that news report and felt the possibility that their daughter - their daughter - was in danger, he could only think of calling Nancy and getting to their little girl, as fast as they could. Then, when he'd seen her soaked in blood and essentially struck mute from terror, he'd almost fallen to his knees and wept. And he cursed fate, God, whoever would listen. How could you do this to her? he demanded. Hasn't this child been through enough? For three lifetimes, much less in a single childhood?

So, after Craig cleaned up and ate a bit, he went to Chloe's room and sat with her for a while. As he habitually did after work. For even though Chloe had been with the Wesleys over a year now, she still surprised him with her intelligence, candor, and wit. And resilience. Full-out, brassy, non-compromising resilience. The kind that could only come from a core of steel. Despite all manner of adversity, the standoffish, heartbreakingly sad orphan girl had come into her own and blossomed into a self-reliant, captivating young woman. What pride he felt, knowing that he and Nancy had had a crucial hand in her development. Albeit they hadn't done it alone.

Fate in its eternal fickleness or perhaps in reparation introduced Chloe to Belle Black, Shawn Brady, and lest we not forget… Craig sighed. Even he had to admit that ever since that boy had come into her life, Chloe had learned to trust and share herself more freely. She'd also fortified her self-esteem and was able to appreciate life with a more optimistic heart. Much of this progress owing to the affections of one very persistent, one very lovestruck Philip Kiriakis.

Craig shook his head. He still wasn't too thrilled about the boy. The name-calling. That headless chicken prank. And that obscene bet. And his background. One so cushioned by privilege that it made one wonder, if the young Mr. Kiriakis knew anything but how to take everything recklessly for granted and if the boy born with a platinum spoon had any idea how to appreciate. Craig sighed. But the important thing was that Chloe was happy.

Tonight, he'd even mentioned Philip's name a couple of times, desperately hoping for some reaction. But she'd simply lain there, frozen and unresponsive. It broke Craig's heart. He frowned, as he took one last look from the doorway at Chloe. "Come on, honey," Craig murmured, "You can pull through this." Fighting back the fear, he flicked off the light and closed the door behind him.

A familiar soft knock came at her window. Her eyes flickered sleepily open. Then, her legs swung out of bed, mechanically on her way to the window, moving to lock her door, switch on the radio, and lay a small towel by the window frame. Her hands moved to pull open the window to let him in.

Philip quietly slipped into her room and closed the window himself. Then, he reached for her, holding her tight against him. "Chloe…"

But she just stood there, her arms not moving to return the embrace, as they normally did.

He closed his eyes, as that seed of despair grew. It'd taken a barrage of smooth talking, browbeating, and finally all-out begging to be allowed off the safety of Kiriakis confines. He still left out the part that he may not return for the night. And smartly so, considering his family was in the process of interviewing bodyguards for him. But none of that mattered. Nothing mattered, but getting to Chloe.

He'd felt it. He'd seen it in her eyes.

That look of retreat, when the world had become just too much to bear. He'd seen it before, when the "Ghoul Girl" pranks got out of hand. When he'd broken her heart one too many times. But this time… He pulled back to look into those eyes he loved so much and felt a frightening chill creep into his heart. He cupped her cheeks and peered and peered into those impossibly blue eyes. Usually filled with such humbling light and passion. Now, terrifyingly empty and abandoned. He'd never seen it this bad. This time it was much worse.

"Chloe? Baby?"

No response.

No, his mind screamed, as his hands raced over her face. No, I won't let you take her from me. He didn't know, if he was referring to Andrew, God, or fate. He damned them all. He rested his forehead against hers. I won't let you let them win, Chloe. I won't let you give up.

So, he swept her into his arms and sat down on the bed with her, stroking her jawline, then her neck, then arm, waist and legs. "H-Hey," he cleared his throat, "I talked to Jase, before I came to see you, and Shawn's gonna be alright. You hear that, beautiful? He basically just got a hard knock in the head, but he's gonna be alright… Sucks for the team though. He's gonna be out this season. Our best pitcher. So, I-I'm gonna need my prettiest fan at every game, if we're gonna kick some serious ass." Watching her expression, he nuzzled her neck. "I'll even fly in those famous New York hot dogs for you, if you want. Giant, fat ones with tons of fat and preservatives. It's the only way to go, babe. Am I right?"

He looked down and saw her eyelids slowly rise and fall. He pulled her closer. He didn't know, if she was sleepy or if by some chance he was reaching her. But it was something. "Speaking of food, Cook's been driving us insane. He's on this vegetarian kick and subjecting us to all sorts of weird green things. I'm serious. He's stopped using butter, so the pastries are coming out mighty funny. Wonder where he got that crazy idea from, huh?" He kissed her forehead. "Next thing you know, Sebastian's gonna start asking for an electric-powered limo and Henderson's garden is gonna start reeking cow patties."

His heart skipped, when she sighed and relaxed against him.

Encouraged, he said, "Hey, graduation's a couple of months away. You wanna go somewhere together for the summer? I'm thinking, private island with a beach, crystal blue water, you naked…" he gave a weak smile, running his hand through that silky hair, "My dad's got this place in the Mediterranean. We can invite the whole gang, if you want… of course, then the time you're naked reduces drastically… So, I vote everyone but me and you off the island right off the bat."

She rested her forehead under his chin and sighed.

He closed his eyes and let his hands tenderly roam over that beautiful body. "I love you, Chloe." After today, he didn't think he could ever tell her too many times.

He looked down and watched her eyes flutter closed, exhausted. He reached behind him and pulled the blanket around them both. Stroking her face, he watched her sleep.

Hours later, he awoke beside her. The room was still dark. He'd settled them both on her bed, when he felt weariness overtake him, as well.

His hand instantly moved to caress her cheek, when she whimpered, tossing and turning in her sleep. "I'm here, Chloe," he said softly, "Everything's gonna be alright. I'm here." He pulled her closer and ran his hand up and down her back to soothe. Gradually, her breathing calmed and steadied, her hand clutching the front of his shirt.

Feeling so helpless, he closed his eyes against the tears. And guilt.

I'm sorry, Chloe, he thought. I'm sorry, I didn't protect you.