Days passed much in the same fashion. More tests, and scans and nurses and orderlies…He was getting sick of it. He tried hard to remember something about himself, anything, but there was nothing in his mind but a vast blank. He couldn't remember his own name or his job or if he had a family… or what he looked like. As time went by, seeing he had no visits, he started thinking that maybe he had none. Try as he might, he didn't know what to make of that piece of information. The only highlights of his days were when Dr. James came, but he started to discern some kind of weariness about her, though he didn't dare mention it to her, it wasn't his place and it wasn't like he could speak anyway. That was what worried him the most. None of the doctors could fathom why he wasn't able to do so. His scans had come back okay, as he'd been explained, but his mouth didn't seem to want to cooperate with his brain. So he settled on observing silently what was going on around him, grunting occasionally to express his displeasure at the nurses when they came to collect his blood yet again or to the orderlies a little too eager to get him naked. He had noticed them looking and he wasn't entirely sure he liked that…it was highly inappropriate, of that he was sure, though. He spent most of his days trying to make sense of what had happened to him without being entirely successful. The more he thought about it, the more frustrated he became.

Another day had started, with the same ballet of nurses and other medical staff getting him ready for the day. It was still early when Dr. James came in holding what he assumed to be some kind of mirror. She appeared even more tired than the previous days and a tingle of worry settled in the pit of his stomach. She approached his bed silently, sliding a stool next to him. He noticed the barely there trembling of her hands as she held the mirror, setting it in her lap. She was yet to look at him in the eye and address him. He held his breath when he saw her square her shoulders and slowly raise her head to meet his gaze with her own, making her expression as open as she could without being entirely successful. He could see the inner battle she was having with herself, about what, he didn't know. Could it be possible for her to be affected by him the way he was affected by her? He banished the thought before it completely formed in his mind, there was just no way. She was merely being professional with him. Her demeanor was most probably due to some condition that could prove very hard to explain. Suddenly, he was very still, bracing himself for the news he was about to hear.

When she just graced him with a "hello" and a tired but true smile, he felt as if a mountain had been removed from his chest. She looked at him then, really looked at him it seemed, taking her time to study him like he was something of interest. Once again he blamed it on the medical news he was about to hear. His heart missed a beat when she reached for his good hand and placed the mirror, face down, between his fingers, her hand lingering the tiniest bit, or so he imagined.

"I thought you might want to know what you look like." That admission made him release the breath he had been holding in a surprised gasp. How could she have known?

"Your face is mostly healed now, so I think it's safe. That might trigger some memories. Well I hope it will anyway."

He hesitated, his eyes darting between the young doctor's face and the mirror in his hand. Suddenly he wasn't sure. Seemingly aware of his inner conflict, she placed a light hand on his arm, giving him a reassuring smile and that was all the encouragement he needed.

Lifting the mirror slowly, he braced himself for the shock of discovering his own face for the first time since he woke up. The first part of himself revealed by the smooth glass was his mouth and his shadowed chin. Then his long nose with the thin plastic tube disappearing in his nostril, and then his taut cheeks and last his eyes and forehead. It took him half a minute to realize he was actually looking at himself, that what he saw reflected on the silvery surface was his face. He studied his features, transfixed. With his eyes he traced the contours of his thin lips, his jaw line, the slight curve of his nose, his broad forehead and his short black hair and last, his eyes. Even he was stricken by their unusual color and he frowned a bit. He looked at the faded bruises and barely there cuts on the left side of his face, the slight creases around his eyes.

To be honest with himself, he didn't know what to think. There was nothing he could remember, nothing triggered by the sight of his own face. Dr. James was looking at him expectantly, not daring to ruin the moment with the wrong word it seemed. He looked at her for guidance then, waiting for her to tell him what to think and feel, but she remained silent. He gave back the mirror, looking slightly dejected by the whole experience. He had just taken a good look at himself and his mind was as blank as before. He didn't know if he should be angry or grateful. He watched as the young woman stood up and placed the mirror on the table in front of him. When he thought she was going to leave, she surprised him by leaning against the wall across from him, looking every bit the teenager he had first thought her to be. For the first time, he took his time to really look at her, from her long reddish-brown hair to her dark blue scrubs and used up sneakers. The only things bringing to mind that she was an adult at all were the white coat and stethoscope she was wearing. She was looking at him straight in the eyes, her gaze assessing. It was unnerving to say the least. He looked back at her, not knowing what to make of her current attitude.

"You will be moved to another floor soon and started on a new food regimen and rehabilitation with physical therapy. You will learn how to sit up on your own, how to stand, how to walk. It'll be a long and painful process. You will also learn how to speak again and a few months from now you will be free to go back to your life."

She paused, looking at him, suddenly uncertain, shy. She gave him a somewhat coy half smile, hiding behind a curtain of hair, the gesture so endearing that he had to mentally shake himself to pay attention to what she was actually telling him. It was hard, though. She wasn't a doctor now. She was someone who cared, the first he'd met since waking up. Sure there were full teams of doctors and nurses taking care of him, but the young woman in front of him was different. Her eyes held concern whenever she looked at him. There was some kind of softness about her that made it alright for him to feel weak around her. Something told him that she wasn't always the cold and clinical professional. She had a caring nature, of that he was sure, but he hoped that it had something to do with who he was and not just the fact that he was a patient. And somehow in her treatment of him now, he could feel that he wasn't entirely mistaken.

"You will go back to your life, and I'll make sure you are whole again when you do."

Her words were final, shocking him with their implications. 'She' would make sure 'he' was alright. 'She' would take care of 'him'. Her words warmed his heart and he felt them all the way down to his toes, their warmth settling in the pit of his stomach. He had someone. He wasn't alone in this. The pain and worry he had been feeling for days vanished as he wrapped his mind around the young woman's words.

"I promise."