Chapter Ten

Steve was in his own brand of agony. He had been in his room talking to Oscar when Rudy had appeared in the doorway, beckoning Oscar into the hall. They'd closed Steve's door...and Oscar didn't come back. While it could have been a National Security matter, with Oscar having been summoned back to the office, Steve's gut told him it was Jaime. Something had gone wrong.

Every terrible possibility played through his head. Michael had been testing her...had his questions spooked her so badly that she tried to run? Had she suffered another hemorrhage? Was she lying on the operating table right now – or worse? Steve knew his door wasn't locked. He could go out there and demand to be told what was happening...but did he have that right? And inserting himself by force into an already bad situation could potentially make things even worse for Jaime. No, he decided, they would tell him as soon as they could. For now, he would simply have to wait – and it was tearing him apart.

* * *

Rudy and Michael were at a loss to explain – to anyone – what had happened to their patient. Nothing on Jaime's brain scan (from less than 24 hours ago) or in any of her tests showed where the intense pain was coming from. They'd been forced to knock her out with a series of pain killers because she'd been going into shock. She certainly hadn't been capable of telling them what was going on.

"I don't understand it," Michael said again as he magnified the brain scan photos and stared at them intently. "There nothing here – no blockage, no clots – nothing."

"We've pushed her too hard," Rudy said grimly. "We've somehow given her flashbacks of the condition she was in the night she died. Or...almost died," he added, correcting himself.

"You're saying it's all in her head?" Oscar asked.

"Not exactly. The pain Jaime's feeling is very real – it's excruciating – but it has no immediate physical cause. Something triggered it, but the cause came from somewhere other than her own body," Rudy explained. "She'll be out for at least a good twelve hours now and hopefully when she wakes up, she can tell us at least a little of what happened to her. And then we need to find a different approach, to be sure we don't trigger that pain again."

"What do you suggest?" Oscar asked Rudy. (Michael was still studying the brain scan...and finding nothing.)

"We need to stop trying to trigger her memory – and see what might develop naturally. It may have been a case of too much, too soon – or for all we know, she may never be able to look back without that pain. If that's the case,we'll work on coping strategies with her, but for now -"

"For now we'll just help her in any way we can," Michael said, finally turning around. "I agree; we need to let Jaime call the shots. But I don't think we should stop the testing and the memory enhancement trials entirely. Jaime's asking questions. She wants to know more about who she is and where she comes from – and the little tidbits we've fed to her about her past aren't enough."

"She's had no spontaneous memories of her own?" Oscar asked.

"None," Michael confirmed. "She doesn't recognize photos of her parents – or even herself as a child. She doesn't think she's ever been up in a small plane and told me she has no idea how to play tennis."

"What about Steve?" Oscar queried. "Still nothing there, either?"

"Only what we've told her."

The three men fell silent...until Rudy had an idea. "Maybe Steve is the key to helping Jaime start to unravel her past. They've spent a lot of time together here, but it's always been structured and supervised. Maybe if they're alone together – if, say, he retaught her how to play tennis -"

"It could work," Michael agreed. And send her straight back into Steve's arms, he added silently. Still, he wanted what was best for his patient...didn't he?

* * *

"You'd have to be very careful," Rudy told Steve. "Let Jaime ask the questions – if she asks questions – and then answer them as simply as possible. No extra details and nothing too upsetting."

"I'll tread lightly, Doc," Steve promised. "When do we start?"

"She'll still be too groggy tomorrow from all the sedation, but you could drop by her room and see if a little tennis might spark her interest. If she's willing, then the day after tomorrow should be fine. The workout should do her some good; you could even start showing her how to hold back and control some of her strength."

"Got it covered," Steve replied.

"If she has any pain at all -"

Steve nodded. "She'll be back here faster than she can blink."

* * *

"Hey there, Sleepyhead – how ya feeling?" Steve asked. He approached Jaime's bed slowly, wanting to make sure he'd be welcome.

He was; Jaime flashed him her broadest smile. "Hi!" she said brightly. (She seemed to be suffering no ill effects from the previous day's trauma.) "Did they let you run before breakfast?"

"Let me?" Steve laughed. "Rudy was out there with a whip and a chair!"

Jaime giggled. "Well one of us got fresh air anyway. They won't let me out of this stupid bed. Not for a couple more hours at least – and I've been awake since four!"

"You must be bored outta your mind," Steve empathized.

"You know it! And I feel fine!"

"From what I hear, you didn't feel so fine yesterday; they just want to be sure you're okay."

Jaime pouted. "Don't I look okay?"

"You look great," Steve confirmed. Good luck keeping her in that bed, Rudy, he added in his head. "Hey, if you feel up to it, how 'bout playing a little tennis tomorrow – no doctors...just us?"

"I'd love that! Except...well...I don't really know how, so I'm not gonna be very good."

Steve grinned. "Perfect – 'cause I'm not that good either. But I can at least get you going again, to see if you still like having a racket in your hands."

"Okay. As long as you promise not to laugh at me."

"Scout's Honor," Steve promised, holding up his fingers in a Scout salute.

"Were you a Boy Scout?"

"You bet," he confirmed. Jaime frowned slightly. "What? You don't like Boy Scouts?"

"No, it's not that. I just...I wish I knew stuff like that. About me, I mean. Was I ever a Girl Scout?"

"I think you were too busy playing tennis," Steve told her.

"Did I like school – was I a good student?" Jaime continued. Steve could tell these questions were hypothetical, that she was more talking than asking, so he stayed quiet. "Everything is a blank – and it's so frustrating!" she cried, angrily brushing away a tear or two.

"I'll help you in any way I can," Steve promised. "Even if it's just to listen."

"You're a good friend, Steve." Jaime reached out for his hand, and smiled through her tears. "Thank you."

Steve could see her eyelids beginning to droop. Rudy was right; she was groggier than she realized. "Want me to sit with you while you fall asleep?" he offered. Jaime nodded, and Steve settled back into the chair, still gently holding Jaime's hand.

* * * * *