A/N: I know this update must be a surprise after such an unforgivably long break in the story. I am so sorry. I have no good excuse. My muse is terribly stubborn and flits about arbitrarily. My apologies. I'm trying to finish up all my published WIPs and work on my scads of unpublished ones so I can put them out there. I have promised myself I will never publish an unfinished story again. It isn't fair to you guys. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this peek into what's happening with poor Face…
Nurse's Station Eight South
Nurse Lydia Trin had been watching the hallway as she updated her charts. She knew Bridget was due anytime now. She wanted to catch her before she entered Room 857. The patient was showing signs of waking up again, and he was restless. Dr. Ross had left orders that he be called before any visitors were allowed in the room, but she had noticed that Bridget tended to ignore most orders when it came to the patient. It was odd, but she tended to treat him like her actual brother, even though she was not listed as any sort of family member, or even a friend.
Of course, Lydia had heard about the fact that the patient had tried to save Bridget's brother, so she might have been fixating on that. A transference of some sort. Lydia shook herself out of her musings. She had charts to update and no time to stand around overthinking other people's motives. About ten minutes later, the elevator at the end of the hall chimed, and Bridget stepped off, bundled up warmly against the November chill. Lydia smiled at her and beckoned her over to the desk, reaching for the phone at the same time.
For her part, Bridget had been impressed with the doctor taking care of Bright Eyes. He was competent and confident and had always shown great compassion for him. She appreciated that the handsome doctor had not allowed the press to turn his case into a circus, or to overwhelm her or her family as well. It was hard enough on them when Brett had died so close to making his goal of becoming a firefighter. For his death to have become sensationalized would have been unbearable. The publicity surrounding Bright Eyes had been difficult, especially considering no one knew anything at all about him. Dr. Ross had not allowed any photographs to be published of him, out of concern for his privacy, but had allowed a brief press statement from the hospital covering the basics of what Bright Eyes had done when he rescued the group from the Tower.
As a result, the mysterious man had become a national hero during a time when heroes were badly needed. Dr. Ross had only allowed a basic description to be released to the media… blond hair with silver streaks, blue-eyes, late 30's to early 40's, tall and extremely fit. What Dr. Ross did not tell them was his impression that his patient had been dealing with some sort of tragedy long before he ever found himself confronting the Twin Towers. He wasn't sure where the feeling came from, but he had learned long ago to trust his gut. It had never let him down. He knew there was a story behind his patient's amnesia… and his mysterious background. That was the reason he had asked to speak to Bridget. He had grown fond of her over the past two years, and he did not want to see her get hurt.
He was so deep in his thoughts that the knock on his door startled him, though he shouldn't have been. Bridget was nearly military in her punctuality and precision. He had set the meeting for 3 pm and she knocked at exactly 3 pm.
He chuckled a bit at that realization and called out "Come in!"
Bridget stepped in, looking as put together and as calm as always. She sat down without his asking. They had gone beyond formalities long ago. "Good afternoon, Doc." She smiled, her whole face lighting up. "I heard through the grapevine you have some interesting news for me."
Ross laughed. "I do, actually. He's awake, though we aren't sure what he remembers."
"Does he remember Brett at all?"
"I think his memories are jumbled and confused. He also may remember more than he's telling us. I have no idea what that could mean. And he still hasn't remembered his name apparently. He seems…" Here Michael struggled to find an accurate term for what he saw in his patient. It was painful when he finally hit on the right word. He sighed. "Bridget, he seems broken."
Michael watched the play of conflicting emotions as Bridget processed this information. She had taken the patient's needs very seriously and asked good questions. She never failed to impress him each time they had met. She was tall, slender, and fit, and poised in a confident way that spoke well of her in his eyes. Her hair was a sort of cinnamon color and currently pulled back in a thick ponytail which ended just below her beltline.
Her eyes caught his attention as they always did, as one was a clear emerald green, and the other was deep chocolate brown. Her expression normally crackled with quiet humor and intelligence. Just now, he could see the tears that were pooling and threatening to spill down her cheeks. He longed to reach out and wipe them away, to hold her and assure that things would be alright, that the man she had invested so much of the past two years in would recover completely, but he knew he couldn't do that. He wouldn't make promises he couldn't keep.
Bridget took a deep breath and composed herself. "I would like to see him."
Michael nodded. "I expect you would, but because he is awake now, I need to ask him first. If you'd like to wait in the lounge by the Eight South nursing station, I'll go talk to him." He stood and indicated the door.
Bridget felt a small shock go through her as she automatically rose when the doctor did. She followed him numbly down the hallway towards the nursing station. She hadn't even thought about what it would be like once Bright Eyes woke up. She'd followed her routine with him for so long now that she just wasn't prepared for anything to change. Her body felt numb… as if she were operating on autopilot. She sat down where she was told and even accepted a cup of coffee, though she had no memory later of doing so. She waited for nearly twenty minutes for Michael to return, and never even sipped from the cup in her hand.
Michael sighed when he saw her sitting stiffly in the chair, the cup still placed exactly the way it was handed to her. He knew Bridget was having a hard time dealing with the realities of "Bright Eyes," as she called him, being conscious. He also knew what he was about to tell her was not going to help things.
Bridget jumped to her feet when she saw him coming. He put up a cautionary hand. "Relax. He's okay. His vitals are better. It's just…"
"Just what?"
"He's decided he doesn't want any visitors. I must honor his wishes. I'm sorry Bridget."
For the second time that day, shock waves washed over Bridget. "How could he do that? How could he do that to me, and to Bret after everything we've been through? After everything I've done for him?"
Michael reached out and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "He doesn't really know what you've done for him or what you've been through, does he?"
Bridget stopped and stared at Michael. "Well…no, I guess not. But how can I get through to him if he shuts me out? I do care about him!"
Michael nodded. "Write him a letter. I'll see he gets it. Maybe that will help. But for now, go on home and get some rest. I'll call you if anything major happens."
Bridget thought about it for a moment and then nodded. Her mother had always told her writing her feelings out was the best way to figure out what she was feeling. "I'll do that. She smiled, though her expression was rather strained. "I'll be back tomorrow."
He watched as she turned on her heel and boarded an elevator. As it closed off his view of her sad expression, Michael decided to visit Room 857 for the second time that hour. His patient might not have anything to say, but he certainly did. And he was going to say it.
~TBC~