Chapter Eleven

The next morning, Oscar was at the hospital early enough to share morning coffee with Rudy and Michael. "How's the patient?" he asked in what he hoped was a casual voice.

"A little cranky," Rudy said.

"Those dreams she had brought all of Jaime's most intense emotions straight to the surface," Michael explained. "Unfortunately, that's where they've stayed. She's got a lot on her plate and has to find a way to sort it out and come to terms with it – all at once."

"That can't be easy under the best of conditions," Oscar agreed. "What, exactly, is her condition now?" he added, almost as an afterthought.

"She's struggling," Michael told him. "Physically, she's starting to heal nicely, but emotionally...well, healing is still a long way off."

"Is there anything I can do to help?" Oscar offered.

"Maybe. Talk with her – but more than that, just listen. Let Jaime vent, at least as much as you can tolerate without blowing up at her, and -"

"I won't blow up at her," Oscar promised.

Michael raised a doubtful eyebrow. "You haven't seen her in a few days, have you...?"

Jaime was sitting in a chair by the window and smiled when Oscar knocked on the open door. She seemed harmless enough, Oscar thought to himself. Marchetti must've been blowing it out of proportion. "Hi, Babe," he said, smiling back at her. He handed her the small white box he'd carried with him. "I brought you some donuts."

"Thank you," she told him, setting the box on the table.

"How are you feeling?"

Jaime scowled. "Why does everyone find it necessary to take my emotional temperature every five minutes? I'm fine!"

Oscar was undeterred. "Physically – how are you? How's the pain? Michael says you're healing nicely."

"Michael says?" Jaime exploded. "Just how many times have you met to talk about me without my getting to be there?"

"I was worried about you, Babe, so I asked your doctor how you were doing."

"You can always ask me, you know!"

Oscar took a deep breath. He was beginning to see Michael's point. Trying to explain himself (or argue that as OSI director he not only had the right to talk to her doctors but could view her medical records at any time) would certainly not help matters at all.

"Why are you here, anyway?" Jaime demanded, staring fiercely at him.

"I came to see you – and to bring your favorite donuts. This is the pleasurable part of my day, Jaime. Talking to your doctors may be part of my job, but -"

"Part of your job?" she fumed. "Ha! You weren't so concerned about doing your job when Chris got captured – were you?"

Oscar was trying hard not to rise to the bait. "I did everything humanly possible -"

"No! No, you didn't!"

"I put together the best possible team and sent them straight over there...but it was already too late," Oscar said gently.

"You should've sent Steve! Oscar, you could've made him go – ordered him! - but you didn't! You asked a favor of an old buddy...and now...now Chris is...dead." Jaime picked up the water pitcher and sent it flying into the rear wall of the room.

Oscar much preferred taking the blame himself rather than seeing her this furious with Steve, but at this point he was struck speechless by her unexpected intensity. Jaime got up from the chair and sank into her bed, her face covered with both hands. "I don't...wanna talk anymore," she whispered.

"I'll be back tomorrow," Oscar promised.

"Don't bother! Just do your job and leave me alone!"

Oscar shook his head sadly as he headed back to Rudy's office. As much as he wanted Jaime to recover, to feel better all around, it was more than that. It seemed that the time might soon be approaching when he would need her to be better...and she was nowhere even close to ready.