Fifty-one

Two weeks later

"Well, now, there's the sleepyhead."

Myles groaned as he opened his eyes, squinting at the bright light coming in through the window. Someone was gently running a soft object over his shoulders and back, something slightly wet. Why doesn't it hurt this time? he thought groggily. If there's nerve damage, I wouldn't feel the cloth… but there's no pain… or not like last time… and there's light…

"Tara?" he managed to croak, unsure why his throat felt like someone had shoved a wool scarf down it. The pain around his eye was gone as well. He reached up and gently probed at his cheek. Wait… it's gone. What the—? His mind struggled to figure out what was going on.

"Easy now, Mr. Leland," a voice he didn't recognize soothed, "things can be a little confusing after two weeks in a coma, but you're fine. Just let yourself wake slowly."

Two weeks? A coma? He was totally confused now. What sort of game are you playing now, Jones? "Where's Tara?" he demanded suddenly. "What have you done with her?" He tried to push himself up, only to find he had next to no strength in his arms. "So help me—" Anger was rising fast.

"Mr. Leland, you need to calm down."

No! No, I'm not buying it. It's a trick, Jones just wants me to think— He heard the voice calling for someone else, and tried again to get up, knowing that he'd be no match against more than one person right now. I have to find Tara…

He got his feet on the floor and tried to push himself to a standing position. It seemed to take forever, but he managed it. The floor was ice-cold, and only then did he realize he was no longer dressed in what was left of his recon gear. A deep-seated panic set in. Oh, God, what did— did they— no, no, God no, please, no nonononono—

"Myles!" Strong hands grabbed his upper arms and shook him, hard. "Myles!"

He tried to break free, but the grip was too strong. Tara! Tara, please, please where are you? No—

Suddenly a hand struck him across the face, hard. It snapped his head around enough that a sharp pain lanced through his neck. A deep voice cut into his thoughts. "Myles! Look at me! Right now! It's D— look at me!!"

D? He looked up, and saw dark brown eyes boring through him. In a flash, everything came back; they were free, Jones was dead, Tara was alive and recovering, and he—

His gaze dropped away from his friend's. "D. I'm sorry."

"It's ok. You've been out cold for two weeks. It's only natural things would be a little confusing." The older man squeezed Myles' arm gently. "How about we get you back into bed before you fall over?"

"All right." The rush of adrenalin was over, and he felt even weaker than when he'd first awakened. Fortunately, the nurse had come back as well, with a doctor; between the three of them, they managed to get him back onto the bed. "Wait." His brows furrowed as he realized they hadn't laid him on his stomach. "My back…"

The doctor nodded. "As long as you don't go wriggling around too much, I think the world is ready to see your face again. The grafts are working quite nicely, along with the standard stitches for the less damaged areas. I expect the scarring will be minimal, and eventually will fade to where it is barely noticeable."

Myles felt a slight twitch in his right eye, but he assumed it was merely an aftereffect of whatever they'd used to knock him out for two weeks. "Thank you, Doctor," he said simply.

"You will need to be careful from now on about sunlight exposure and various chemicals, like in the soap you use," the doctor continued. He patted the mattress. "We've replaced the usual mattress here with a special air mattress that will inflate or deflate as you move. It's to prevent bedsores and blistering of the grafts. As long as you follow your physical therapy properly, I see no reason why you shouldn't regain less than 90 of your previous mobility. We'll try to have you back to work in about a month, if you feel up to it, and back in the field within four."

The twitch was getting worse; Myles was starting to realize that perhaps it wasn't the anesthesia.

D sat down in the chair by the bedside as the doctor and nurse left. "Myles, I know you probably aren't up for this, but I need a report as soon as you're able. Today, if possible."

His eye twitched again. "Has Tara given you hers?"

"Yes." D's expression was sober. "But only to me. She wouldn't talk to anyone else, in fact hasn't wanted to see anyone else after Sue talked to her the day you went Code Blue on us. And she sealed the file."

"But you know." Myles couldn't meet his friend's eyes.

"Yes, I know," Dimitrius replied quietly. "And I will tell you the same thing I told her. You did all you could under the circumstances you were in."

Blue-grey eyes drifted to the window, avoiding his friend's gaze. I wish I could believe that.