Jazz wakes up the next day at around noon feeling as though a bus just ran over her. With dark eyes, she looks over at her nightstand and notices the note with her name on it. Picking it up, she reads the sloppy handwriting:
'Remember to change your bandages when you wake up. Call if you need any help.
T'
Crumpling the note, she tosses the paper ball aside annoyed by how overly concerned Terry is being, making her feel like that fragile child she once was. She grumbles an unwarranted cure as she carefully gets up. Shuffling to the bathroom, she holds her injured arm close to her chest as though a sling supports it. Heavily leaning against the sink, she stares at her pale reflection in the mirror.
She tiredly sighs when she realizes just how crappy she looks. Suddenly feeling nauseous, she quickly spins to kneel in front of the toilet as she heaves what little contents her stomach contains. Once done, she flushes the mess away and closes the lid of the toilet as she slowly sits on it. Covering her face with both hands, she rests her elbows on her knees and takes deep breaths trying to lessen the unbearable pain from her two wounds. Since the sink is close, she uses it to steady herself as she stands in front of the mirror again. She passes her hand under the spout to activate the water, taps a button, and splashes the cool liquid over her face before steadying herself once again.
Grabbing a towel, she dries her hands and face before sluggishly walking out of the bathroom and back into her bedroom. Heading towards the dresser, she picks out comfortable gray sweatpants and a white shirt to change into. Once dressed, she searches for her sling and spots it on the bathroom doorknob. Throwing it around her neck and slipping her arm into it, she makes her way to the kitchen.
She fetches a cup and fills it with water from the tap. Thirstily gulping it down, she refills it and takes a few more sips before resting it atop the counter. An open box of granola bars beside the fridge forces her to grab one and open it. She knows she has to eat something before taking the many pills her doctor prescribed. Using her mouth to hold the nutritious bar, she fishes for the pill bottles packed in the bag sitting on the table. Once she finds them, she distastefully eyes the three orange medication bottles.
"Better get this over with," she tries motivating herself.
Finishing the bar and hoping it will stay in her stomach, she settles down at the table and pops the caps off of the bottles. She shakes out the appropriate doses and swallows each one with a generous gulp of water.
She almost chokes on the last pill before it passes down her throat. Taking a few more sips of water to wash out the lingering bitter taste, she sets the cup down and twists her face with disgust. Hating the last dose so much, she chucks the pill bottle out the open kitchen door. However, instead of hearing it hit the hard floor, it lands with a soft thud.
Her brow rises in suspicion as she stands and makes her way to the door. She discovers why the bottle didn't land like she expected it to when she comes face to face with Bruce standing in the hallway.
"Bruce?" He stares down at the orange bottle by his feet before returning his gaze to the young woman. "You try swallowing one of those bastards." She says as she picks up the bottle.
Ignoring her comment, he quietly makes his way to a chair in the living room and takes a seat. His silence is beginning to scare her. She places the bottle on a nearby table and makes her way to the couch.
"I'm guessing you've heard the story from Terry," she timidly starts as she takes a seat adjacent to him. He stares at her, expertly keeping his face expressionless. "He was in trouble; I couldn't just sit back and do nothing." Silence. "Ok, so I shouldn't have been so hasty, but I had to go with my gut, and my gut said-"
"To almost get yourself killed?"
"How was I supposed to know that was going to happen?"
"You know the suit would have protected Terry if Thorn tried anything."
She looks away, ashamed at her own stupidity. "Fine, I've learned my lesson," she mutters, hoping the reprimand is over.
"Have you really?" He asks raising a brow. "You two haven't been in sync for a while; I have a feeling that's why you moved in so quickly."
"That has nothing to do with it," she defensively replies, thinking back to the last time she saw Terry before the accident.
"I think you know that's a lie."
"I don't want to talk about it."
"And I don't care about hearing it. I'm only pointing it out so you can fix it," Bruce replies, surprising her. "He said he knows all about you." She nods once. "Good," he adds as he rises. "Then I trust you'll take care of this."
"What, that's it?"
"Given the circumstances, what you did was unnecessary but understandable. You've been punished enough for it. By the way," he continues as he walks to the door. "Terry told me you have a decision to make." He opens the door as he turns back to face her. "I hope that isn't it," he finishes, nodding at her pink eyes before walking out.
Surprised by the outcome of the visit, Jazz takes a minute to let it mull over. The conversation she had with Terry echoes in her head.
'Confront, or forget?'
She moves to the bathroom as the question repeats itself like a broken record. Standing in front of the mirror, she focuses on the pink eyes. With a finger, she removes one of the lenses to reveal one gray eye. Looking back into the mirror, she studies each eye color separately. If she decides to confront, her eyes will once again turn gray. But if she decides to forget, the lenses will have to be substituted for splicing.
'Face the truth, or deny its existence?'
A few hours later, Terry finds himself knocking on her door and waiting for her to answer. He leans on the doorframe before he knocks once more, but she doesn't open it. He tries turning the doorknob and finds it unlocked. He pushes the door open and spots Jazz seated on her couch, legs crossed with rolls of gauze and balls of cotton surrounding her. She is in her sports bra, her shirt laid beside her as she tries to fasten a new sheet of gauze onto her shoulder; however, with the injury being in an awkward place, it's clear she is having trouble dressing it in the new bandage.
"Need some help?" Terry offers, still leaning against the doorframe as he watches her work.
"I got it," she irritably replies without looking up at him.
But Terry ignores her rejection and makes his way towards her. Pulling the coffee table closer, he uses it as a temporary seat and takes over the job of wrapping gauze. She doesn't object, but she doesn't make eye contact either. After securely tying the roll onto her shoulder, he takes her arms and rests them on his shoulders so he could remove the old bandages around her ribs with more ease.
Once the bandage is off, he slowly peels away the sheet stuck to the two-inch stab wound just below her rib. Soaking a cotton ball in some antiseptic, he gently dabs it onto the cut, causing her to slightly wince from the sting.
"Sorry," he apologizes before continuing to clean the stitches. "I didn't hear from you today," Terry starts, his eyes focusing on the cut.
"I was busy."
"With what?" He tosses the used cotton ball in the nearby trashcan before ripping open a new packet of gauze sheets.
"Thinking."
He knows what she means by her answer. "And?" Her response lies in the eyes that finally connect with his, their color as gray as rain clouds. He lets a smile cross his lips as he looks back down at the sheet of gauze between his hands. "I happen to like gray better; it suits you more. Hold this," he instructs when he places the sheet over the stitches.
She places a hand over it as Terry gently begins to wrap the new roll of bandages around her chest making sure not to over tighten.
"Terry?"
"Hm?"
Jazz hesitates before shyly asking, "Do you hate me?"
Finding the question odd, he looks up to meet her large, gray eyes. "Hate you? Why would you ask that?"
"I kept a lot from you, and we haven't been getting along recently."
"No," Terry replies looking back at her wound. "I don't hate you, but I don't like you either."
"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"
"No."
"You're an ass," Jazz scowls at him, making him look up.
"And you're inconsiderate. If you stop keeping everything buried inside you, we might actually get along." She's so taken aback by his reply, she isn't sure how to respond. He lowers his gaze to the wound again. "Is that too tight?" He asks as he finishes taping the ends off.
Looking away, she shakes her head as she lifts her arms from Terry's shoulders. "Look," Terry starts, cleaning up around him. "I'm not trying to upset you; things were just frustrating, and I guess I took it out on you."
"I'm sorry; I didn't think my story mattered," Jazz replies, regaining eye contact.
"And that's another thing that bothers me; I don't understand why you would think that. Whether you like it or not, our lives are always going to get tangled up. The reason I want you to share is so I can understand how you work, how you think; so when we're out in the field, I can predict your next move or know whether you need me or not."
"I didn't realize," Jazz mutters, looking away. "I've been on my own for so long, I just… I'm sorry."
"You already said that," Terry sighs. "It's not my place to lecture you, and I know you're beating yourself up over this, so I'm willing to put it behind me if you're willing to open up more."
Jazz studies his determined face, easily sensing just how important his request is. Although the frown he's wearing adds to the stern look, the kindness behind his blue eyes give away the hint as to why he's so forgiving.
"You might not like a lot of the things I've done," she tests.
"You're not going to change my mind, Douglas."
So she agrees to his terms with a nod. Glad he's finally getting somewhere with her, he eases the frown as he gets up, pushing the table back to the right spot.
"If you need anything, do me a favor, swallow your pride and call."
"Don't count on it," she replies, slowly pulling her shirt back on and sending his eyes into a roll before he heads to the door. "For what it's worth," Jazz calls after him, making him stop and turn, "I never really hated you." He gives her an acknowledging nod and walks out.