Chapter 10
I had no idea where I was when I woke up. The silence was punctuated by loud beeps that hurt my ears. The smell told me I was in a hospital and the rapidly accelerating beeping was probably my heart monitor. I panicked when it became clear that I couldn't see and I couldn't move. I tried to open my eyes, but the bandage over them was tightly wrapped. I tried to move my hand, and I felt the strap holding my wrist down. I could also feel the needle in my vein, itching and hurting, and I started to struggle against the restraints.
The door opened and someone hurried inside. Instead of saying anything they walked past my bed. I had no idea what they were doing and I pulled harder against the restraints.
"You can't come in," a voice next to my bed said.
"You're ok. You're in hospital."
I stopped struggling as soon as I heard Nick's voice. My heartrate however went up.
"Sir, please leave. You're disturbing the patient," the voice said again.
I wanted to argue that he should stay, but my jaw didn't work. The spinning sensation intensified and I felt myself slide into unconsciousness.
*
When I woke up again, I remembered that I was in hospital and I remembered that Nick was somewhere close.
"iick?" I called for him.
My mouth didn't work properly.
"I'm here," he said from somewhere very close.
His voice was croaky as if he hadn't spoken in a long time. I felt a hand in mine and I squeezed it.
"You'll be fine."
The emotion in his voice worried me. He said it like it was rehearsed. Maybe he had told himself many times that I was going to be fine.
"Wha' 'ay ih i'?"
He took some time to figure out the consonants I couldn't pronounce.
"It's Tuesday. Your fight was three days ago. Everyone is in custody. Officially, you're under arrest, too."
"Oh, 'ood."
He squeezed my hand.
"Wha' 'ong wigh 'e?"
"What's wrong with you?"
I made a sound that was more or less affirmative.
"You had surgery for some internal bleeding. Everything is ok now. Also, the tear gas affected your eyes more than it should have. Your eyes might be too sensitive to light and the doctors decided that a bandage was a good idea. I'll call them to check up on you."
"A' 'y 'outh?"
"Your mouth is fine. Your jaw was dislocated during the fight. They decided to immobilize it until you wake up. You'll have trouble talking for a while. I know this must be difficult for you."
I heard the smile in his voice. Oh, good, he was making fun of me. My scowl was concealed by the bandage. I barely managed to stick up the tip of my tongue between my lips. It probably helped him relax to see me trying to respond to the insult. The tension in his hand loosened and his voice was almost normal when he spoke.
"I'm going to let them know you woke up."
I missed his hand but once he left the room I could hear the heart monitor's beeping calm down. So embarrassing! I was a pretty good liar, and with preparation I could fool a polygraph test, but I was in no condition to control my heartbeat. First order of business was to get the heart monitor removed. I did not need him to know how much he affected me.
My eyes were itching. Sensitivity to tear gas. It figured that I'd get hurt when my own people came in.
The restraints were gone. I was tempted to take the needle out of my arm, but I decided against it. I wanted to get better as soon as possible and if that meant putting up with the inconvenience of an IV needle, I was just going to bear it. If I could only figure out which was the heart monitor. Why didn't I pay more attention to these things? Wasn't it supposed to be on my finger or something?
A doctor and a nurse showed up soon enough. They took out the IV, and unwrapped the bandage from around my eyes. The light bothered me more than I expected, but it was bearable and I soon got used to it. I tried to tell them about the heart monitor, but they didn't seem to understand my mumbling. After some more poking and prodding, the doctor unwrapped the other bandage from my head.
"Everything looks ok. Just don't open your mouth wide for the next couple of months."
"Ok. Thanks."
"I'm going to let the officer back in. He's been here ever since they brought you, but he will not be allowed to stay long. You need to rest."
I didn't feel tired, but my first reaction was that I didn't want to see Nick.
"Umm," I said, trying to think of a way to tell the doctor not to send him in.
The doctor looked at me expectantly, but since I couldn't find any words, he left. It wasn't that I didn't want to see Nick. I didn't want him to see me like that. Although, if he had spent two days by my bed, he had probably already seen the worst. I didn't want to see pity in his eyes. His words from that amazing weekend were seared in my soul. I had clung to them during the darkest times although deep inside me, I did not believe them.
'I'll wait for you.'
The girl he knew was gone. Maybe he waited for her, but she never made it out. I was a battered down copy of hers. I might get away with it now, when the bruises and bandages could give him the illusion that his Skye was still under them. But once the wounds healed, he would see the new me. The real me.
He knocked before entering. I croaked something that was meant to sound like come in. He had put on even more weight, his hair was longer and I could see now that it was sort of curly. So much more salt in the salt and pepper. The dark circles under his eyes were probably on par with mine, and I had gotten beaten up something fierce. He looked a lot worse than the last time I saw him, and that time he had looked worse than the time before. To be fair, I was on the same downward path. We were both pretty damn far from the happy family look of Mark and Sophia Doyle.
"You look awful."
I barely managed to whisper the words. My throat felt rough, but if the doctor hadn't said anything it wasn't probably a big thing.
"Right back at you," he said.
"Why are you here? Where's Deacon?"
"I'm interrogating you. You're under arrest, remember?"
"Oh, yeah."
The Bratva had long ears and deep pockets. I'd have to keep the cover until I heard from my handler. After this operation, I'd probably have to leave New York for good.
"What do you remember?" he asked.
"Are you seriously interrogating me?"
"No. I wanted to know if you have any…"
"Right. Brain injuries. Didn't they do any kind of tests? What the fuck kind of health plan do I have?"
"They did an MRI. You don't have any brain injuries. There are other kinds of trauma that don't have physical signs."
Psychology. His forte. I remembered everything I had done for the past four months. I wasn't ready to share that with anyone. More precisely, not with him.
"I remember, but I'd rather not talk about it just yet. Unless you need the information to get anyone."
"No, it's ok. You can take all the time you need."
Despite my resolve, I started to cry. He sat down on the edge of the bed and I leaned into him. He put an arm around my shoulders and I hid my face in his chest. My whole body shook with silent sobs, and I let myself shed the hot tears of shame and pain I held back after Tatiana's death. She had died because of me. She died protecting me.
"I'm sorry," I whispered. "God I'm so sorry."
He caressed my hair tenderly, and he whispered back. "You survived. That's all that matters."
He was too good of an investigator not to know how Tatiana had died. He was giving me absolution for my sins. He was talking about surviving the mission, but I couldn't help thinking of our personal conversation.
"Thank you," I said looking him in the eye.
"I told you I'll be here."
My heart monitor went nuts and the doctor and some nurses burst in.
"Get out," the doctor told Nick while one of the nurses coaxed him to the door.
He was almost twice her size, and he let himself be expelled from the room. His eyes were on me the whole time. I couldn't decipher the look. I seemed to see panic and sadness and pain and resignation. I closed my eyes and let the drugs they injected into me do their chemical magic and lull me into another gentle sleep.
*
When I woke up for the third time in that hospital bed, Nick was gone.
I was stable enough to be transported to a county jail hospital. Under the disapproving gaze of the doctor and nurses, they shackled my hands and feet. I walked slowly between the two uniformed cops. I was exhausted enough to hope that this was Deacon pulling me out, and I wasn't actually being transferred to jail. The mission was over and my will to fight was spent. I wanted to rest. I wanted to be debriefed. I wanted to be deprogrammed and allowed back into the real world.