A/N: Thank you all for the wonderful reviews! Hopefully you all are enjoying this, because I have a lot planned for this story, so if you get a chance, let me know what you think and review!
April 28, 1912
As Tommy had feared all along, his bronchitis had worsened into pneumonia by the second day spent in the hospital. His drab, daily routine began to consist of twice daily examinations by a doctor and hourly visits by the staff nurses, who would bring him his meals (which he barely had the appetite to touch), administer his medicines and provide him with a sponge bath (usually by the surly head nurse, whom he constantly butted heads with). As much as he wanted to get out of his bed and walk around, the nurses forbade it unless they were to accompany him, and he hadn't much strength anyway.
However, almost a week and a half after being admitted, Tommy awoke early, feeling strangely peaceful. It was as if the weight that was resting on his chest had lifted, and he found himself able to take deep breaths and even had regained somewhat of his appetite. He rang for the head nurse, Anna, and she quickly rushed in a panic.
"Mr. Ryan, is everything alright? You never ring." She tucked a piece of her grey hair back into her bun and peered at him over the nose of her silver-rimmed glasses. "You've given me a fright."
Tommy almost wanted to chuckle at Anna's disposition, but decided not to chance it. "I'm sorry. I woke up this morning feeling a bit like me old self."
"That's good news to hear, Mr. Ryan, but couldn't it have waited until I made my rounds to your ward this morning? Here I am, thinking that something serious has happened to you," she reprimanded him. "I'll send for the doctor, but for now, let's take your temperature and I'll send up a tray of breakfast for you, or have you no appetite?"
"No, I have one," he mumbled through the thermometer.
After several minutes Anna removed the thermometer and glared at in the bright sunlight that filled the ward. "Ninety-eight even. Very good; an improvement from the past week. The doctor will be in shortly."
"Do you think I could move around and maybe take a walk o'er there?" He motioned to the hall outside of the ward and Anna paused for a moment, thinking his request over.
"We'll let the doctor make that decision when he is in to see you, but perhaps, yes, I don't see why not. He'll be in within the half hour."
As promised, the doctor arrived twenty minutes later, and after examining Tommy thoroughly and listening to his lungs, he determined that the worst of the pneumonia was over and agreed to allow him to take a ten minute walk in the halls of the hospital. Tommy was grateful for this, for nothing felt better to him that to stretch his weak legs after being confined to a bed for six days. After being helped out of bed by Anna, she watched him like a hawk after he took his first of several shaky steps past the beds that held other survivors; some of whom had not been as lucky as he. Many had died and some still battled their illnesses, and he said a silent prayer as he passed, his footsteps getting stronger as he progressed out of the room.
Satisfied with his newfound freedom, he made several laps around his floor; even being so brave as to take the lift down to the floor below him. He knew it was most likely off limits, but he had wanted to stretch his legs even more than pacing the same path in the hall. He walked through the children's ward and watched their angelic faces playing in the playroom, but once a nurse caught on to him, he was quickly shooed out and told to return to where he belonged.
Tommy arrived back upstairs and was greeted by Anna, a breakfast tray and his medicine. "I trust your walk was satisfying?" she questioned as she helped him back into bed.
"Yes, 'twas," he replied, taking a bite out of his toast. "I didn't know there were children here."
Anna nodded and eyed him suspiciously as she handed him his pills. "Yes, downstairs. This past week has been very sad for us. Many orphans from the Titanic disaster have been brought in and many have not survived."
"What happens to the ones that do?"
"Well, most are sent to orphanages around the city with the hope of eventually being adopted, and others are relocated to live with their relatives," she answered simply. "It's quite a sad story. Couples today are usually looking to adopt babies, not children, so many remain in the orphanages until they can support themselves in the working world." She adjusted the pillow behind Tommy's head and sighed. "Perhaps I'll send for the immigration officer tomorrow to issue your papers, because with a little bit of luck, you just might be on your way by the first week of May. Is there anything else I can do for you before I head off on my rounds?"
He thought to himself for a moment, racking his brains for anything that could occupy his time. He came up with two things rather quickly, surprised at why he hadn't thought of them sooner. "I'd like to clean up a bit, give meself a good, clean shave and if it's not too much trouble for you, could you bring a piece 'o paper an' something to write with?"
She nodded briefly. "I think that could be arranged, as you weren't the thorn in my side as I suspected you to be. I'll draw you a bath down the hall and I'll have the paper and pencil to you as soon as it's filled."
"Thank you." He rested his head back against the pillow as Anna departed the room. Tommy knew now what he would have to do. He would write to his mother and sister, letting them both know that he was alive and well, as he wasn't sure that his name had made the survivor's list, which had surely reached Ireland by now. The last thing he needed was for his poor mother to mourn him, bedridden as she had been after his father had died years ago, nor his sister to have tears streaming out of her beautiful green eyes.
Anna returned shortly with the materials Tommy needed to write his letter, including an envelope with the proper postage. She promised that as soon as he finished writing it, she would have it sent to the post office and that within the week it would be on the next steamer to Ireland.
"It's on the hospital, Mr. Ryan, I assure you that," she insisted. "Come, let's get you cleaned up and soon enough you'll be feeling like your old self again."
She had been right, and a warm bath had been just what he needed. The steaming water had soothed his aching muscles, and after a long soak, he dressed and took a long look at himself in the mirror. He hardly recognized the person staring back at him, for his face had gotten so gaunt and pale the bones were practically sticking out from underneath his week old stubble. He lightly ran his hand over his face and picked up the razor and bar of soap that had been left. He begun to shave with even strokes and was satisfied with the end result. His face was still thin, but it was an improvement from what had been there previously.
After summoning Anna to help him back to his room, he settled in for the afternoon and begun writing his reassuring letter to his worried family back home, regaling his tale on the doomed ocean liner and of his first two weeks in America.
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