The first sensation I felt when I went to sleep was a floating one. I felt like I was upside-down, slowly falling through the blackness.
Oh, wait, not blackness.
I opened my eyes to find myself curled in the fetal position, hugging my knees to my chest, as I half-hovered, half-fell through a clear blue sky. I stretched my neck to look down, seeing the glittering skyscrapers of a city below. It was warm and nothing short of peaceful.
I uncurled my body, wondering if I could just fly. In a way, I could, but I was still falling down. I was going so slow that I wasn't scared. I was able to lay on my back, simply enjoy this feeling.
Giving a silent, contented sigh, I moved back on my head, pretending to dive. I flew downward a little faster, going past the highest windows of the skyscrapers. I could see people, but I didn't know if they could see me. I kept falling and falling until I angled myself above the concrete, and landed softly. It wasn't humid or uncomfortable out, perfect for just walking around.
As I came to the end of a street, a car pulled up alongside it. A man I didn't recognize rolled down the window and said he was going to take me back to my apartment. I didn't hesitate, and got in the car.
I don't remember every detail, but I know my apartment took up the entire floor of one skyscraper, and offered a stunning view of the beach. It was fancy and comfortable at the same time. I guess I lived alone, because there was no sign of a second person living there. I sat in front of the large window, my forehead against the cool glass, sighing with contentment.
I suddenly felt as though someone had dug a knife in my chest. They were twisting and turning it, then it moved downward. The base of my chest was consumed with sheer agony. I hugged myself, groaning as it got worse. My arms began to feel wet, and I pulled them away to reveal a massive deep cut running across the middle of my torso. Poking through that cut was a transparent membrane, bulging with silver pearls.
The dream stopped there. The next thing I heard were muffled voices and the familiar, steady beeping of a heartrate monitor. My senses were coming back slowly, but then faded into nothingness again.
My senses returned once again to the sound of hospital machinery and the voices of people I know. I wanted to perk up when I heard Wierzbowski, but my body just couldn't do it.
". . . He's going to feel awful when he comes around. Don't be so rough, Hudson," Wierzbowski was saying.
I tried to moan something, but a deeper desire to just sleep claimed me before I got any words out.
The third time I woke up, I managed to stay up. I was propped somewhat upright, and there was a thick bandage under my flimsy gown. As my senses came back, I noticed a curtain to my right, a window to my left, and Wierzbowski, Hudson, and Vasquez sitting in chairs across from me. Hicks was leaned against the wall, arms folded over his chest. A small lamp was on the desk next to the curtain, along with a chart one of the nurses left.
"Good morning, sleepyhead," Hicks said, grinning. "How're you feeling?"
I could get a grunt out, but my brain was still too foggy for me to form a proper sentence.
A few minutes later, Miranda appeared from behind the curtain, smiling. "Hi, Mark." She looked at the others. "Did he just wake up?"
"He's been going in and out for the last hour, hour-and-a-half," Hicks said.
"I'd say another half-hour and he should come around a little more fully." She looked at me. "By the way, thank you for being an interesting first surgery for me. You were dreaming at some point. That's rare. Feel better, Mark. I'll be back soon." Miranda gave Hudson a kiss before leaving.
I had regained feeling in most of my body. Once I did, I wanted to sit up, but Hicks gently nudged me back.
"Just rest. Don't wanna open that incision," he said.
I didn't have the energy to argue with him.
Over a half-hour later, I was starting to feel like I could process my thoughts and talk to people, even though I was exhausted. Frankly, I didn't want to do a lot of talking, and with Hudson around, I can guarantee I wasn't doing a lot of talking.
I did want to have some time with everyone individually, and I started with Hicks. He told me he was going to talk to Carlisle when I got out of the hospital, because he wanted me to be with them when they talked.
"There's a part of me that says breaking up with her would be a good idea. At the same time . . . why? That'd be running away, and I have to stop running away," Hicks said.
"Tell her that. I've told you being honest is the best thing to do, right?" I couldn't remember.
"You did."
"Are you worried about what she might say?"
"Sorta."
"Well, at least you're going to be honest with her, and yourself."
"It's gonna be a few days. Don't strain yourself thinking about it, OK?" Hicks looked out the window. "Want me to go get Wierzbowski?"
"There's nothing else you feel like saying?"
"Nothing I can think of." Hicks began walking away. "I'm sorry, Drake."
Wierzbowski was watching Hicks leave as he entered the room. He shrugged before grabbing a chair and sitting next to me. "You feeling alright?"
"I feel like crap," I said. "That's the simplest way I can put it."
"You were in there a little over three hours. They've got the pearls, if you want to see them."
"If they let me destroy them, sure."
Wierzbowski shook his head. "I don't think they'll let you do that. Hudson and Vasquez and I didn't stay here the whole time. We all went to a café down the road here for some coffee, and that was it. None of us could really eat anything because of how worried we were about you. Hudson said something along the lines of, 'I trust Miranda'll take good care of Drake.'"
I weakly smirked. "I don't think it's a coincidence her first operation was on me. Next time I see her, I'll tell her she did a good job keeping me alive." A slight wave of exhaustion was coming over me. "Did they say when I can eat?"
"Not for another five hours. You can have some water, though, if your stomach can handle it."
I gave an annoyed sigh, but I'll admit I don't think my body was ready for any kind of solid food yet. "What about going back to base?"
"You'll be staying overnight for observation. We'll come and see you as soon as we can in the morning, I promise."
I nodded, knowing damn well I didn't want to stay here overnight.
Everyone was told to leave me sometime in the afternoon, and I was completely alone for the rest of the day. I know someone was put in the bed next to mine, but I requested the curtain remain closed. Despite that, this guy's entire family had crowded into the room, leaving me with no quiet to speak of. At least Hicks had brought me my journals.
The nurse wanted me to get some sleep, so she ushered the big family reunion out the door, and then approached me. "Is there anything you'd like, sir?"
"No, thanks," I said.
The nurse gave me a small smile before turning out the lights for the night. I tried to get myself comfortable, hoping to just go to sleep and wake up to the faces of the people I care about.
Yeah, if you've been following along this whole time, you know that wishing for a peaceful sleep is too much for me. When I need it most, I don't get it.
The explosion of the silver flower toxin was echoing in my mind, both from the lab and the attack on the university hospital. I was in the middle of it, breathing in heat and toxic smoke, trying to scream for help. I could see Wierzbowski running toward me, his hand reached out to grab me. There was another explosion, and he was sent backwards into the thick smoke.
Hudson was coming from the other direction, but someone shot him in the chest. He collapsed, blood gushing from the wound.
My throat was closing up as I tried to call him. He was writhing in pain as both blood and a runny silver fluid spouted from his chest.
I abruptly sat upright in bed, gasping for breath. A spark of pain shot through my torso, and I involuntarily leaned back down, covering my face. I sobbed, moaning, "Hudson . . . Wierzbowski . . . Please, help me . . ."
It's safe to assume I spent the rest of the night crying. I couldn't go back to sleep; I was too scared. Worse yet, I tried to conceal it from the nurse when she came back in the morning. I quickly dried my tears, and told her I was fine. All I wanted was to see my teammates. Even though I was starving, I didn't want anything to eat.
The first person to visit me that morning was, to my surprise, Doctor Ranelli. You would not believe how relieved I was to see him.
"I'm guessing you didn't have a very restful night, judging by the look on your face," Ranelli said.
"Not in the slightest," I replied, rubbing my face.
"Well, when the others came home and informed me you'd be staying overnight, I had a feeling you'd be wholly against the idea due to your nightmares."
I nodded.
"If there was anything I could do, I'd do it, but know that the doctors aren't keeping you here to torture you. Anyone who has major surgery is usually kept for a few days for observation. You need to inform them of your condition, that way they have someone on standby if you need anything. Why didn't you tell anyone last night?"
"I was scared. Plus, I don't know anyone here. I don't trust anyone here-"
"Push past that. You know your PTSD better than anyone. You know what happens when you have no one around to help you. Don't make yourself suffer like that. It's not like they're going to send you some idiot who doesn't know what they're dealing with."
"Why can't I push past it?"
"You can. Drake, I'm not telling any of the doctors here what's going on with you. You need to do that for yourself, do you understand? Being scared of what someone might say means letting your trauma control you, and you don't want it to control you."
I took a breath, an overwhelming feeling of weakness washing over me.
"I think, first, you need to get some sustenance in you, and, perhaps, you can inform a nurse about your condition with one of your close friends around-"
"Good morning, man!" Hudson barged into the room, a large vase with flowers (and water dripping everywhere) and a card in one hand, and a big box of donuts in the other. He put the vase on the desk, ruining every paper in the nurse's clipboard, and sat in a chair with the donuts in his lap. "Feeling better?"
I shook my head. "I'm awake, but I still feel like I need more sleep."
"You didn't get any sleep last . . . ohhh . . ." Hudson switched his gaze between me and Ranelli. "Geez, man, I'm sorry. Y'know, if you gotta stay another night, I can-"
"Drake has to inform the doctors on his own," Ranelli said.
Hudson frowned. "OK, I'll . . . I'll stay out of it."
"Can you be with me when I tell them?" I asked.
Now Hudson's eyes brightened. "Sure, man, I'll be with you." He looked down at the box of donuts. "Did they say you could eat yet?"
"No."
Hudson closed the box. "Then I probably shouldn't be eating in front of you, man."
"I don't care, Hudson, stuff your face if you want." I took the card from the desk, and smiled when I saw it was a get-well card signed by the rest of the unit. Of course, instead of sweet things like "hope you feel better," there were things like, "come back soon so we can kick some ass," and "get well, asshole" written by some of the guys. "Thanks for the card," I said.
"Yeah. Wierzbowski picked it out," Hudson replied, cramming a powdered-sugar donut, oozing with rich crème, into his mouth.
I took back what I said about not caring that Hudson ate in front of me. When someone finally came in to check on me, I demanded to know when I could have solid food. The nurse said she'd bring me something bland and relatively easy to digest. I said I didn't give a rat's ass how easy it was to digest.
"I also want to know when I can go back to my unit," I said when I was given a small bowl of oatmeal.
"Doctor Adril wants to talk to you first," the nurse replied. "She said she'd be down in a half-hour."
She was down a bit sooner than that. As she came from behind the curtain, she held out a small jar. In that jar were eleven silver pearls.
"I can't believe those little bastards were inside me," I said. "Can I chuck them under a steamroller?"
"No. They're being kept for research," Adril replied. "You should be legitimately clean now, Private."
"Well, thanks. Now what? Can I go?"
"Not yet. Tomorrow morning, you should be released."
Yeah, Adril isn't Hornby. I'm hoping I don't have to deal with her again. I'm hoping this is it with the silver flower.
To sum things up, I told Miranda that I needed someone on standby during the night for my bad dreams. I'm just glad she already knew, and understood. And that she had to do all the talking.
The good news is that I actually slept through the night, with no need to call someone. I guess I got lucky.
In the morning, I was given a long list of things I couldn't do because of my incision. In short, that list was basically anything physical, and then I felt like I got punched in the gut because the damn thing was actually five inches instead of four; the membranous sac the pearls were in had to be taken out, too, and because it has the consistency of egg whites, it moved fairly easily, so scooping it out was a challenge.
I just wanted to go back to base. After listening to the doctors, and receiving a bottle of pain pills, Hicks and Wierzbowski helped me leave the hospital, making sure I kept my torso mostly straight. I felt sick when I stood up, and continued to feel that way the entire trip back. I didn't think I was going to throw up because I had close to nothing in my stomach. Well, "close to nothing" is still "something," (that being plain-as-hell oatmeal) so . . . I was wrong, and I can't think of anything more embarrassing then vomiting on a Metro train. People were moving away and probably assuming I was a drunk being helped home by a couple of friends. Lovely.
Hicks was stern when he ordered me to just stay in bed the whole day, and I guess I was OK with that for a few hours. I felt like I could actually get some sleep.
When I next awoke, I wanted to get up and walk around a little bit. I still felt nauseated, and I knew there were a lot of nutrients my body was lacking after over sixty hours of nothing. The bland stuff I was given at the hospital wasn't doing the trick at all.
I knocked on Hudson's door. He glanced at me from his bed, and smirked. "Hey, man, good to see you up and moving."
"I need fresh air," I said. "Can we take a walk?"
"Sure." Hudson put his book on his nightstand, and grabbed his cap before leaving the room. "You sure you're feeling OK?"
I shook my head.
"Then why're we walking?"
"I don't know."
Hudson studied my face for a minute. "Tell you what, I'll take you out to lunch, man. I feel like that's what you want, am I right?"
I nodded.
Hudson leaned in to whisper. "Why don't you say something, man? No one's gonna get mad if you tell 'em how you're really feeling."
"Because I know everyone's gonna say 'no.'"
"That's why you go to me. That's what friends are for, man." He patted my shoulder before walking me down to the base's Metro stop. "Plus, I got the feeling you just wanna vent and need someone to listen."
"How did you know?"
Hudson shrugged. "I dunno. You don't do a good job concealing some of your emotions, man."
He's not wrong. I knew for damn sure I was not going to feel better and comprehend my thoughts until I got some real food in me. I knew my subconscious was probably backed up with thoughts regarding the silver flower and the pearls and my trauma and all that other fun shit, but it wasn't going to emerge until I was no longer concerned with my physical health.
Hudson waited for me to have a drink before saying anything to me when we sat in the outdoor area of a diner overlooking the bay. "Hey, you got some color coming back, man," he said after I gulped down a glass of orange juice.
"I feel human again," I replied.
"Good." Hudson folded his arms on the table. "So, what's on your mind?"
I took a breath. "I dunno. I'm just glad to not be stuck in the hospital anymore."
"Ah, so, you looking miserable had more to do with the fact that you'd been denied food for the last three days. I can understand that, man."
"Were you expecting me to actually vent about something?"
"Not really. I think getting outta base was more important." Hudson leaned back in his chair, stretching while looking at the bay. "I'll bet you feel a lot better now that those pearls are out. You don't have to be bothered by it anymore."
"The trauma's still there." Everything came flooding back. "The night after my operation, I had . . . another nightmare."
"I know that. I didn't say it was gonna make the trauma go away, man. But, you're hoping this is a step in the right direction."
"It doesn't make any difference. I still have nightmares. I'm still afraid of being put in a place where I could suffer a flashback. I'm still scared to death of the flower. I still . . . I still hate myself for everything that's happened in the past. I'm just . . . Doctor Ranelli told me to think of this as a cleansing, and . . . instead of doing that, I bitched and moaned about everything I've got to go through, and didn't stop to think about how much good this would do for me. I failed, Hudson. I failed to push myself. I failed to be just a little more positive."
"Drake, you don't have to be positive if you really don't feel like it, man." Hudson reached over to gently squeeze my arm. "It's over now, though, and your job at the moment is to rest and heal."
Question: Do you think Hudson is relating to Drake's experience because of what he went through in "Dead Air?"
