T H E W A S T E L A N D

Disclaimer: not mine.

Warning: Arthurian legends, sick angels and medical procedures ahead.

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CHAPTER Three: Angels and Puppets

Part two.

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Monica woke to the sound of sirens, and it took her a moment to find her place in space and time. Sitting up, she brushed a left-over tear from her cheek; suddenly, she felt the irresistable urge to see Andrew.

Hesitantly, she walked over to the braod glass doors to the emergency room, where she stood for a moment, summoning all her courage. Then she walked through the glass doors as if she owned the place.

She'd done this a hundred times before – social worker, nurse, medical student: when they worked on a case, they weren't really in disguise; prople simply saw what they expected to see. They just blended in, vaguely being recognized as familiar faces, but not so much that anyone paid too much attention to them.

It worked as it had always worked, although Monica had a hard time fighting the urge to avert her eyes each time she crossed somebody on the corridor. Unchecked, she reached emergency four, where, according to the admittance board, A.D. was being treated. But standing in front of the door, her courage left her, and she had to force herself to look through the window.

The picture that unfolded in front of her eyes was one of pure efficacy and concentration. Obviously, something was about to happen, and all efforts were directed towards that goal. People were walking in and out busily, readying stuff, checking things. Andrew was there, hooked up to monitors and Ivs. An oxygen mask had been placed on his pace, and he looked slightly forlorn in the midst of all that buzz. He was laying flat on his back, which seemed to give him a very hard time breathing. One of the doctors – a tall, young man with short, dark hair – was intently talking to him, and although Andrew nodded a few times, he did'n seem able to concentrate on the words.

"Monica!" Monica turned to find a red-haired woman in scrubs standing in front of her. "Well, if that's not a surprise! You do remember me, don't you? I'm Jean, from hematology."

"Right." Monica remembered. She had been working on the case of that boy with hemophilia; if she remembered correctly, she had posed as a social worker that time. "Yes, sure. Hi Jean."

"Hi. I'm just filling in down here – unfortunatly, the flu doesn't even stop in front of nurses. So, here I am." She smiled. "What are you doing here in the ER?"

Following Monica's gaze, her eyes turned wide with understanding. "Oh. Andrew D'angelo – your husband?"

Brief pause. "My brother."

"Gee. But don't you wory, he's in good hands. As far as I understood, he's got a rather bad case of pneumonia. He's hurt one of his lungs by force of caughing, and Dr. Evans is going to put in a chest tube so it can expand again."

Monica stared through the window. They were, in fact, prepping Andrew for minor surgery. He seemed calm enough, but Monica didn't miss his brow creasing as the doctor began washing his side.

"Why don't you go in?" Jean asked. "I guess chest tubes are a pretty scary thing if you don't know what's happening, and I'm sure it's okay with Dr. Evans, if you ask him."

Long pause.

"No." Monica didn't even dare to look at Jean. "No, I don't think that's a good idea."

"Oh... okay. Well, I'll have to go back in. I'll tell him you're here, anyway."

With that, she left Monica standing there, watching Andrew jerk as the doctor made the incision. Then, Jean was besind him, stroking his sweat-soaked hair. Calmly, she talked him through the procedure, and, very slowly, he relaxed enough to allow her to hold his hand.

Embarassed as if caught spying on something very intimate, Monica turned away.

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Monica recognized the soft, golden glow long before she saw Tess standing at the window, looking out into the night. She was so happy to find her there that she could have cried. But then, just a step shy of crossing the door, she halted, frightened by a sudden thought. What was she going to tell Tess? She'd failed. Tess had trusted her to help Andrew through his ordeal, trusted her enough to leave them alone despite her obvious worry for Andrew. But she, she'd been taken away by a story she'd been told, by a past long gone, seeking refuge in the puzzle of his former life, while he'd needed her here. Somehow, she was at a loss what to do, how to deal with all too human angel of the presence. Mortality and illness were familiar to her, but they had always been others' problems. She was good at dealing with them because she herself had a different, elated view of things; but now that they affected her personally, she'd backed out. She'd failed Andrew and with him, Tess.

"Do you know the legend of the Fisher King, Miss Wings?" Tess asked silently, looking out into the night.

Confused, Monica took a daring step forward. "Why... yes. It's an Arthurian legend. On his quest for the Holy Grail, Perceval comes to Muntsalvache, where the Fisher King is waiting for the through heir to his throne. But Perceval proves unworthy and is banned from the castle, never to find the Grail again. Eventually, Galahad, Lancelot's son, who is pure in spirit and thought and chosen to be the keeper of the Holy Grail, wins the right to be crowned king."

Tess turned, sighing. "You know the words, but you never saw beyond them, didn't you? Come, sit, Angelgirl. I'm going to tell you the story once again, and maybe you'll understand."

She waved Monica near, waiting until she was seated.

"You must know that Perceval never searched for the Holy Grail in the first place – which is the only way of finding it, as you may know. Having fulfilled his original purpose of becoming a knight of the round table, Perceval is on his way home to visit his mother, when he comes upon a river. There, he finds two men in a boat, one of whom is fishing. The fisherman tells him that the river is impassable for miles and offers Perceval refuge for the night. Perceval finds the castle indicated, which is splendid, although the land surrounding it is laid waste, the soil infertile, the crops on the field rotting.

"At the castle, he's graciously received by the lord himself, who is crippled and lies on a couch in front of a blazing fire. Perceval wonders about the man's wounds, but remembers his teacher's advice and dosen't ask. A rich feast is held, and as the meal ends, a procession of youths enters the hall. The first youth bears a lance with a single drop of blood on his tip, which runs onto the youth's hands. Then, two more youths enter the hall, carrying golden candelabra. The are followed by a beautiful maiden who holds a golden cup in her hands, decoreted with precious gems. After her comes another maiden, carrying a silver platter. The procession crosses the hall and vanishes again without a word being spoken. Again, Perceval longs to learn the meaning of all this, but refrains from asking. The next morning, though, the castle has disappeared.

"Perceval returns to Camelot, where he, now a worthy knight while once he was but a fool, recieves a hero's welcome. But during the feast in his honor, a loathy damsel, hunchbacked and crooked, enters the hall and reprimands him for loosing the Wholy Grail, which he'd held in his hands. All he would have had to do was ask one simple question, to heal the Fisher King and with him his land."

Tess looked at Monica again.

"You see, Angelgirl, Perceval was, in fact, chosen to be the rightful heir to the Holy Grail. And he didn't loose it because he wasn't a noble enough knight, but because he omitted to ask one single question. And if you wonder why I'm telling you all this..."

Tess sighed. "I've told you the story of a human boy. A very special boy, but human nonetheless, with doubts and faults and dark sides. A boy that has neither been raised in Christian spirit nor searched for it knowingly, but ultimatly, against all odds, has been found, winning everything. For he owned the one quality Perceval lacked when he was put to the test: compassion."

"But..."

Tess raised a single finger, stopping her. "Don't worry about Andrew, Angelgirl, he is going to be fine. Maybe he'll learn a few lessons, himself, but this is not about him. Think about it."

With that, she was gone, leaving a very confused Monica.

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While Monica was sitting there, trying to make sense of all that Tess had just told her, the woman that had been with her earlier, Stella, came back into the waiting room. She seemed strangely subdued, and her gait was slow and hesitant as she came to sit beside Monica. She had a briefcase in her hands, holding it so tightly her knuckles turned white, and her eyes seemed hollow and empty.

"Has something happened to your husband?" Monica asked concernedly, her mind momentarily taken off her own worries.

Stella looked at her in complete confusion, as if she'd noticed her only now. "I... I don't know. The doctors said he's fine, but he... acts so strangely. I... Monica, I'm so scared."

"Would you like to tell me about it?"

Stella hesistated. "It sounds so... ridiculous."

Monica leaned forward to put an encouraging hand on Stella's shoulder. "It can't be ridiculous if it scares you that much."

"Well... okay. I went to see Henry, before, and he seemed okay. He was sitting up in bed, lookiing all determined." She looked at Monica, smiling hesitantly. "You know, man on a mission. Anyway, he told me he had to order a few things and that I had to get him his briefcase. He gave me instructions about where I'd find everything and then..."

Stella closed her eyes.

"...then he told me where to find his last will and what it contained. I was taken aback, but he said it was alright, that it had to be done. And then he told me he had seen Death."

"Death?" Monica asked, surprised.

"I know this sounds strange, but that was what he said. He said he'd been taken to do an eca...eco... some examination of his heart, and as he was waiting for it, he saw a young man. He was on a gurney and he seemed ill, but as they wheeled him by, he looked at Henry as if he recognized him, and there was something in his eyes that really upset Henry. Like sadness and joy at the same time. Henry thinks he's seen his death in the eyes of that stranger."

Stella turned to Monica. "Do you think something like that is possible?"

Monica averted her eyes. So Henry was going to die; Andrew made no mistakes. Her heart was heavy as she replied. "I think that people can sense that they are dying, yes."

Stellas eyes filled with tears. "But I don't know how to react to that. What shall I do now?"

For you shan't know neither day nor hour.

"It's very simple, Stella. Be with him."

And while speaking the words, Monica understood.

tbc

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