Part 21

Emily almost wept in disappointment when she entered the room to find her father looking like he was still sedated. Yesterday the doctors had said they would be putting in a valve that would allow him to talk. She hadn't been able to talk her mother into letting her take another off of school to be here, so she'd spent all day so excited she'd barely been able to sit still, let alone pay attention. And now she was here and he was sleeping.

"Hey, Em," Gillian greeted, a quirky smile curving her lips.

"Hey," she mumbled in reply. "Is he?"

Holding eye contact with that strange little smile, Gillian reached out to shake her father's shoulder. "Cal. Cal, wake up. Emily is here."

Sleepy eyes blinked open, then she was greeted with a wide melting smile. "Emily."

Her hand fluttered up to her mouth. "Oh…they did…I was scared…I thought once they let you talk, you wouldn't be able to stop."

"Saving my voice for you, luv." His voice slightly raspy, slightly different, but instantly recognizable as his.

"Oh, daddy," she giggled through her tears. Picking up his hand, she bounced his palm off her own.

"Hey, what's with the tears?" he chided gently. "All my women are crying today. I though this was supposed to be a happy event."

"It's just so good to hear your voice again." She swiped at her eyes, not at all embarrassed to cry in front her father or Gillian. Speaking of Gillian, "You cried, too?"

Gillian's eyes shown even now with unshed tears. "Yes, I did." There was something else in Gillian's eyes, something that hadn't been there yesterday. A quiet glow. A glow matched in her father.

"Hey, Emily," Damon greeted, as he entered, his hands filled with supplies. "You see we've got him talking again."

"Isn't it great?" She grinned at the cute nurse.

"Who's this?" her dad demanded, no doubt reading the expression on her face.

"Dad, this is Damon, he's been your nurse most days." She leaned close to his ear to whisper, "He's my newest crush."

"Wha?" He put on his most intimidating father look. Or he tried, it wasn't easy being intimidating in a hospital bed, wearing paisley shorts. "He's much too old for you. You, nurse, how old are you?"

Damon stopped, his mouth slight ajar. "You have an English accent."

The non-sequitor stopped her father for a moment. "Most people from England do."

"I'm sorry," Damon flushed. "I just didn't realized…it's not what I expected. Sorry. Oh, I'm twenty-six."

"Way too old." Cal stared pointedly at his daughter, with a sideways glare saved at Damon.

"Dad, you're embarrassing both of us." But she couldn't stop her giggle. It was so good to hear him talk again. So good to have a father again.

Gillian stood at Cal's door, scrubbing her hands with the anti-bacterial foam when tiny Missy stalked past her to bang open Cal's door.

"Stop that right now, Cal Lightman. I know you have a blood pressure, so just quit messing with the cuff. You don't want me to have to put restraints on you, do you?"

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" A definite nasty note sounded in Cal's voice.

"No, I don't want to do that at all," Missy growled. "I'd have to fill out forms. But I will if you don't knock it off." She swiveled toward Gillian with enough suppressed anger to make Gillian jump. "He's cranky this morning." With that Missy stomped off.

Shock still on her face, Gillian pushed open the door. "What did you do to that poor woman?"

"Nothing," Cal grouched.

Gillian suppressed a sigh. Cal being awake didn't mean there were no more mountains to climb or dragons to slay. She'd known Cal, control freak that he was, wouldn't deal well with a situation where most of the control, even over his own body, lay in other people's hands. She looked around the room for something to help jolly him out of his present mood.

"They took out your arterial line," she gestured at the now bandage covered wrist.

He poked at the blood pressure cuff surrounding his bicep. "Yeah, but now I've got this bloody stupid thing attached to me."

She spotted the table she usually used as her work desk now straddled Cal's bed and a covered tray lay on top.

"They brought you breakfast," she exclaimed, genuinely excited. His first meal. Having dropped almost twenty pounds from an already slender frame, Cal badly needed real food in his system, not just nourishment through his IV. "What'd they bring?"

"Take a look," he grimaced, but a touch of amusement sparkled in his eyes.

She opened the lid and burst out laughing. "Oh, Cal…see, the hospital agrees with me."

"Pudding," he sneered, trying desperately to hold onto his bad mood. He made the word sound like Poison. "Chocolate pudding!"

"I take it you didn't order this," she said through her giggles.

He glared. "Would I order chocolate pudding? For breakfast? Bloody hell, would I ever order it?"

"I thought maybe you ordered it just for me," she teased.

His expression softened instantly. "Anything for you, luv. How about a proper good morning?"

"Good morning, sunshine." She stretched over his bed to press her lips against his. A gentle kiss, a little shy, sharing more breath than taste. He retreated slightly, then came back for more. Still tentative, searching, expressing feeling not yet fully explored.

"Morning," he murmured against her lips.

Reluctantly, she straightened, but kept eye contact, letting her expressions tell him everything she couldn't say yet and reading his positive response.

He cleared his throat. "What else do they have there beside pudding?"

"Here's some applesauce," she displayed for his viewing pleasure. "And what looks like apple juice."

His slight good humor vanished.

"What's wrong, Cal?" turning serious herself.

He struggled with himself for a second, a fleeting expression of disgust crossing his face. "I don't think I can eat it by myself."

Glad Cal wasn't looking at her for the moment, she didn't try to prevent her flash of pain from showing. "Well, we have two option," she said matter-of-factly, determined to allow him every ounce of control she could. "I can help you. Or we can put your handle on the spoon and you can give it a try yourself. Whichever you want to do. Your choice."

"I'd probably make a mess."

"Doesn't matter," she assured him. "You wash."

"Give the nurses something to do, other than stick needles in me," he considered. "Let's go for it, yeah."