TITLE: Chapter Eleven
CHARACTERS: Rachel Dunham, Charlie Francis, Olivia Dunham, Peter Bishop, Astrid Farnsworth, Walter Bishop
POV: Rachel, Walter
GENRE: Dark
RATING: M
SUMMARY: The four year old peered curiously at Olivia and asked, "Mommy, is Aunt Liv sleeping?"
CHALLENGE: hospital, black cherry, jello
WORD COUNT: 1113
WARNINGS: none
SPOILERS: none
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This was one of my favourite chapters to write.
DISCLAIMER: unbeta'd
Rachel Dunham had never felt guiltier in her life than when she received the knock on her sister's apartment door by a man named Agent Charlie Francis. It had been evening and she had already called Olivia's cell phone about seven times, angry that her sister wasn't picking up to answer her calls; she'd made reservations at Spago's Italian Pizzeria and Games for a fun night to take some of the stress off Olivia's mind and she had needed to confirm the time with her, so they would be able to make it. Rachel had thrown the door open, pissed as hell that Olivia still hadn't called back and the moment she saw Agent Francis' face, she'd known something was terribly wrong.
"There's been an accident…"
Agent Francis had left an agent to watch Ella while he took Rachel to the fancy, private hospital where her sister lay in critical condition. Oh, how she had cried when she saw her sister's bruised and broken body from behind the glass wall looking into her room; here she'd been furious with Olivia whom had been dying under a burning car the whole time.
She'd stayed the whole night, that first day, talking to any nurse who walked by, begging for answers. Olivia had lost a lot of blood, the left side of her skull had been crushed, and two of her ribs had snapped and punctured her lungs. While Rachel's basic knowledge of medicine and the human body had mostly been gained from watching a lot of House, MD after putting Ella to bed, she understood that her sister was in very bad shape. It was around four-thirty in the morning when one of the doctors had mercifully allowed her into the room to see her sister..
She'd entered the room tentatively, Agent Francis walking behind her and together they were able to see the damage done to the blonde FBI agent. Olivia's eyes were swollen shut and she was attached to all sorts of machines that monitored her heart and helped her breathe, things that Rachel had a very hard time looking at. The doctor had explained Olivia was in a coma, one listed as "severe" on the medical charts.
"So, she'll be like this for a while?" Agent Francis had asked mournfully.
"Unfortunately," the doctor said emotionlessly.
Rachel had looked at her sister's bandaged hands and after wiping away her tears, quietly asked, "Can I hold her hand?"
The doctor nodded. "Gently."
The second time she came to visit her sister, Rachel brought Ella along with her.
To be honest, Rachel didn't like this private hospital at all. Sure it seemed to have better medical equipment and staff than a public one, and the interior was beautiful—clean glass, brushed metal and hints of sea glass green paint everywhere—but it was so unnaturally quiet. The nurses in their quaint uniforms looked like they might have come straight out of a vintage film with their little caps and starched aprons. But their white shoes hardly made a noise as the walked along the tiled floors. And Rachel had seen other families in the lobby, but they were just as silent as the facility's staff.
And she didn't like the fact that she needed to call ahead to the hospital to schedule a visit to see her sister. While she appreciated the care Olivia was receiving, they shouldn't have the right to tell her that Liv would be "busy" then. Rachel felt like the hospital was a crypt, and the bodies here were simply waiting to die.
Olivia was in a new room this time with Peter and the black girl that she'd never met. Rachel was quick to pull the curtain around the girl's bed and did the same for Peter's bed so that only her sister showed—she didn't want Ella to see anything this horrible yet.
Not that her daughter understood what any of it meant.
The four year old peered curiously at Olivia and asked, "Mommy, is Aunt Liv sleeping?"
"Uh, kinda." Rachel was very, very thankful that indeed her sister simply looked like she was sleeping. "Aunt Liv was hurt really bad and her body doesn't want to wake up until she's better."
Ella gently touched Olivia's bedsheet. "Could we wake her up? I want to tell her about my new dress."
Rachel gathered her daughter up in her arms. "We can't wake her up yet. She needs to rest a little longer."
"Why is her hair cut like a boy?" Ella giggled, studying the left side of Olivia's head, which had been shaved upon her arrival to the hospital so that the doctors could perform surgery on her.
"So that the doctors could take care of her," she explained, holding the little girl close to her.
"Will she be awake next time?"
Rachel simply didn't know what to say.
Walter lived in the room with the equipment because he was afraid that if he left, someone would come in and see what he was doing. He was sure that Nina Sharp and Agent Broyles knew that he was conducting synaptic transfers, but they didn't know what he had planned for further on. Because he never left the room, he had to learn how to adjust his recent freedom to fit within the large square pseudo-laboratory.
He had sponge bathes from the sink with dish soap and used the facilities with the door open. Agent Francis brought him tasty meals, sometimes ones home cooked by Mrs. Agent Francis (his favourite so far were the chicken dishes, though he was definitely warming up to the spaghetti squash that was treated like pasta) and he often made himself green Jello that tasted like black cherry.
The bodies of Peter, Olivia, and Afro stayed inside the room with him, the women's beds lined against the north wall, while he and Peter slept on the south side. Nothing was more relaxing than reading his copy of Doris Day's biography while their three heart monitors beeped quietly in the background. He enjoyed getting to sleep beside his son, feeling very safe knowing Peter was there. He knew if he was ever in trouble, Peter would come to his aid. And the best part was that he could hold his son's hand as he began to drift off.
"Row, row, row your boat…"
