May 16, 2187
I'm writing this as I sit beside your bed, staring at you. I've been awake for over thirty-six hours, but I can't sleep. I can't close my eyes.
I might wake up to find you gone, to find that this was all just a dream. Another nightmare. I couldn't take that. So I'm ignoring the nurses and their pointed glances at the cot. I will sit here and watch you and wait for your eyes to open, if only for a second.
It's you.
May 17, 2187
I woke up with my head on the bed beside you, a blanket draped over my shoulders. My back is sore. I think I'll take the nurses' hint and use the cot in a bit.
I'm splitting my time between talking to you and writing this so you can read it later. I know you know I'm here, but I'm not sure how much you're hearing. Your eyes opened earlier and you smiled at me before drifting off again. God, it was the greatest thing to see those not-quite-green, not-quite-grey eyes again.
Do you know where you are? Australia. Australia. No one knows how you got here. They found you near Melbourne, by the wreck of a refugee shuttle. There were a few other survivors and nothing to identify you, so they assumed you were one of the refugees. You've been in a coma since, recovering from your injuries. No one put two and two together, even with the cybernetics, because it's just not common knowledge you have them. It wasn't until you roused a few days ago and started repeating your name and service number that they confirmed your identity.
Just got back from a briefing with the doctor. He ran me through your list of injuries. It's okay. We'll get through this. You're making progress and those damned cybernetics are doing what they're supposed to do: keep you alive.
I'm going to move the cot a bit closer and lie down. See you soon.
May 18, 2187
This is bullshit. Bullshit! They don't know you. They don't know what you've gone through. You died, and you came back. Remember that video we saw at the Cerberus base? You were clinically brain-dead, and they brought you back. Things are nowhere near as bad now, so for that doctor to look at me and spout the idiocy he's spouting…
Limited mental capacity my ass. You just woke up. You looked at me, you saw me, you knew me, I know you did. The doctors don't know what the hell they're talking about. They've written you off. The savior of the human race—of the entire goddamned galaxy—and they're just giving up.
No. I won't let them.
May 19, 2187
You're being transferred to Vancouver. It didn't take much to get Hackett to agree. The doctors here were hesitant, but you're stable enough. We're leaving tomorrow.
I've been trying to find Miranda Lawson but damned if she left any trail. I put the word out, though, even contacted Taylor. Doctor Chakwas will be waiting for us. She's familiar with your cybernetics and their limitations. She's familiar with you. I want her to examine you, I want her to tell me you'll be okay.
I know it'll take time. You won't be up and walking next week, or next month. This is a long-term thing. I know that. But we can get through this. You're not alone anymore.
May 24, 2187
Limited mental capacity.
Chakwas kept saying it over and over. Like she'd picked it up from the Australian docs and it was her new favourite phrase. It made me want to grit my teeth. Yell at her. You looked at me. You knew me. That's not limited! Not in the sense that they're talking.
She had an explanation for everything. Repeating your name and rank was ingrained, something so deeply drilled into each one of us that it just came out. She said it doesn't mean anything. The tests show damage.
No. You haven't said anything else, but that doesn't mean you can't. It doesn't mean you won't. You just need time. Why won't anyone give you time? Don't you deserve that much?
She thinks I'm imagining you looking at me too. I'm seeing things, she said. You haven't actually responded like that to anyone. And I know that's bullshit. I know what I saw.
Damn it, where the hell is Miranda?