Chapter 34

The flurry of motion. Frantic voices making unintelligible statements. A cold chill combined with an unbearable heat. The irresistible sleepiness that seemed to take hold of her.

She knew what she had done; why had she done it? In hindsight, stepping between a two people and a gun was by no means the most intelligent thing she had done so far.

"Stupid girl". Hannah's voice floated through her dimmed consciousness. "Stupid, stupid girl." Margaret wanted to say something back; something reassuring, perhaps even sarcastic. Her lips seemed to be glued together. The endless flurry of motion needed to cease. She just wanted to sleep...

"Begging your pardon, Mr. Thorn-" The doctor's statement as he bustled through the door to his bedroom was abruptly cut short as he made eye contact with John, not in bed as he had been, but struggling back to his full height with the help of Carter. "For God's sake, man!" He cried, immediately furious. "Did I not tell you-oh never mind! We'll have words later, rest assured."

Ignoring his current predicament, the doctor bustled away towards his bed. Fear gripped at John as he struggle to gain his balance. Nothing was right, this wasn't the doctor's normal time. He looked to Carter for something; reassurance perhaps? It was all for naught. Carter looked every bit as worried as John felt. Movement from the hallway distracted him in his efforts, and thankfully Carter was there to ease him into a chair. Four, perhaps five men squashed themselves in through his door, carrying the prostrate form of a woman between them, with his mother following closely and clutching her hand.

This was not any woman. It was her. The woman who meant so much more than he could comprehend. His fear for her life reared it's head at the sight of them dropping her onto his bed, and burst into a fire-breathing rage as he met the devastated face of Nicholas.

"What did I tell you!" He bellowed, the force of emotions behind his words startling to everyone, including himself. "I told you she ought not to be out there!"

"John!" His mother commanded sternly. He paid her no mind, his very core focused on Nicholas with his all consuming fury. He did not notice the obvious tear stains of the other man, did not see the guilt in his eyes, could not feel the regret pouring from him in pitiful waves. He only felt fear. A fear so terrible, it fueled an anger inside of him that was unparalleled to mask how very afraid he was.

"This is your fault!" He sneered, his anger spurging another attempt to rise to his feet.

"Master, I-" Nicholas attempted.

"No!" John snapped. "Do not try to alleviate your conscience to me, for I will have none of it."

"John!" His mother practically screeched. He met her eyes then, saw the disapprobation and incredulity in her gaze, and obstinately returned his own withering glare.

"Mr. Thornton, if you can not calm yourself I will feel no guilt over having you removed from this room." The doctor spoke quietly, but with absolute conviction, almost daring him to disagree. It did nothing to assuage his fear, but it did quiet him for the time being. "Higgins, I need you over here." Nicholas tore his gaze away from the unrelenting expression of his Master, and immediately hastened to the side of the woman.

John watched with a sort of morbid fascination as they worked over her. From his position he could not see her face-his mother was blocking it from view as she held tightly to her hand-but he could hear her lovely voice form occasional words and small moans of pain.

"Stupid girl." His mother said, her loving tone completely contradicting her words. "Stupid, stupid girl." John looked at his hands, emotions warring within him.

How he wished he could be the one holding her hand so tightly as his mother was. To be assisting the doctor in keeping her body still as her wound was stitched. To be able to stand from this thrice damned chair and do something-anything useful. Idly he wondered if this was how it looked when he had been injured himself. Whatever 'accident' he had been in was immense, that much was obvious. He had been told many times he was lucky to be alive, lucky to have woken from his long period of sleep even with his memories washed away. John wondered if the woman had been there for his own care, how much of it she had seen, if she perhaps felt the bone-crushing fear that he did now. He focused harder on his hands.

He saw it then, glinting in the light. A solid gold band resting on the fourth finger of his left hand. He raised his hand closer to his face, incredulity, fear, and just the smallest dash of absolute certainty flowing through him. He took it off, examined it closer, and slid it back on.

"She's my wife, isn't she?" He asked aloud, addressing no one person in particular. Instantly, every body stilled, every pair of eyes slid to meet his form, still staring at the gold band on his finger. A myriad of emotions flitting across his face, each impacting the persons in the room with the dense weight of them. He did not notice the shared glance between his mother and the doctor, the slight nod he gave her, nor the hasty shuffling of all unnecessary individuals as they quickly left his room.

A hand gently took his, and he was startled to see his mother crouched before him, a terrible sympathetic look on her face that very nearly made him regret his statement.

"She is my wife, is she not?" He asked, his voice betraying him. There was no denying he was married. The ring was proof. If not to her, then who could it possibly be? The thought of sharing his life, of possibly being undeniably attached to another woman made him violently nauseous. She let out a shaky breath.

"Yes John." She said softly. "Yes, she is your wife." The relief her statement brought, combined with an even greater fear of losing her made him want to vomit.

This explained nearly everything. The way she would look at him with a sadness that tinged her eyes, why she was always so quiet and timid with him. She was married to him, and he'd had absolutely no idea. Fear, hope, and a still lingering nausea washed around his senses, making it difficult to think about anything.

"I loved her very much, didn't I?" Even to his own ears he sounded ridiculously child-like. She smiled fondly at him and held his hand a little tighter.

"Yes." She said, and chuckled very softly. "Yes you did. And I do believe that if you stopped thinking quite so hard about it, you would remember that you still love her, even right now." He stared at her in astonishment. She was right. He did love her. He was completely in love with that woman; he didn't even know her name. He didn't have to.

"Does she love me?" He asked, hating how his voice sounded as though he were a small boy. She smiled and looked down.

"That is a question you will have to ask her." She replied, a knowing twinkling in her eyes.

"Please, mother." He begged, an inexplicable fear gripping his heart. "I need to know."

"You are right, of course." She replied, the twinkling in her eyes now becoming rather irritating. "But it is time you learned to ask her that for yourself."

What was that supposed to mean? He would think of it later; for now an idea stuck him.

"If you tell me nothing else, will you at least tell me her name?" He stared at her, eyes wide and imploring. Doubt flitted across her features as she opened her mouth, poised to decline him.

"Margaret." The voice of Dr. Donaldson came clearly from his right. John had nearly forgotten his presence, as well as why he was there. From the corner of his vision, he was able to discern the shocked expression of his mother. "Her name is Margaret Thornton, and she's going to be just fine." His hand fell as he found himself attempting to rise again. Every individual part of his body harshly fought against him, screaming with pain.

Margaret. Of course. He'd known all along her name was Margaret, but had been unable to call the information forth.

"Sit down John." The doctor stated, sounding rather cross. John suddenly remembered his warning from earlier. "While we're on the subject of overexertion..." He gave the doctor a furious and withering stare, of which accomplished nothing. "I will say only one thing: if you ever wish to walk and function as the man you were, you will reconsider going against the recovery plan I have recommended." John looked away, angry and humiliated.

"As for Margaret." The doctor continued, his tone changing from stern father to delighted acquaintance in the blink of an eye. "I speak the truth when I say she will be just fine."

"What happened to her?" John asked, unidentified emotions burning through him with an intensity that made him want to lie down. The expression the doctor bore turned grim. He glanced behind him to Nicholas, who was still standing by Margaret's side, and nodded jerkily.

"There was some trouble with the hands..." Nicholas began uncertainly.

"The hands?" John asked, eyes bright as he burned with a sudden curiosity. "What does that mean?"

"You have a business." His mother stated sharply, but he could feel a somewhat pride flowing from her. "Margaret and Nicholas have been taking care of it in your absence. There has been some difficulties of late, and of which I will not speak of." She narrowed her eyes every so slightly, daring him to object. He opted against it. His mother looked back to Nicholas.

"Yes." He agreed, and cleared his throat. "Miss Margaret suspected that we might have some slight trouble after..." He faltered, trying to find his words. "Anyways, she was right. Mrs. Thornton I believe went out first to try and calm them." Nicholas looked to his mother for confirmation. She nodded heavily at him. "I came in here to fetch the Mistress..." Here his breathing sped up some, and John felt the sting of guilt flood is stomach over his furious outburst from earlier.

"I am sorry for what I said." John spoke firmly. "I do not know what came over me." Nicholas nodded and offered a grim attempt at a smile.

"One of them had a gun," Nicholas continued. Ice seemed to fill John's blood at the mention of a gun. Dread, fear, shame...He was blanketed by the heavy weight of unknown memories. There was certainly something gruesomely significant about a gun in his memories. "And Miss Margaret stepped between us." A heavy silence filled the room.

"Why would she do that?" John asked, not particularly looking for someone to answer him.

"It is her character." His mother replied. This was becoming too much to bear. There was a buzzing in his head that simply refused to quiet. Like a thousand voices all clamoring to be heard at once. His temple started to throb.

"I think that might be enough new information for today." said the doctor, looking John over very keenly. "The bullet passed through her left shoulder area very smoothly, and hit nothing so very important on the way. She will need to wear a sling for some time, but she should have no lasting impairment from it." John nodded, his gaze resting upon his hands once more. "I do apologize for commandeering your room. I felt it would be best bringing Margaret here, as the room is still very well stocked with medical supplies."

"I will have Carter make up a bed for you in another room." His mother said softly. John immediately protested.

"I would stay here with her." He said firmly. "My own comfort means little."

"It has very little to do with comfort, Mr. Thornton." Dr. Donaldson said, his tone softening. "But it does have everything to do with rest. Sleep, rest your body from your exertions today. Tomorrow when I come to check on your wounds, I shall bring a cane. It will make walking significantly less trying for you." He smiled comfortingly, and John realized suddenly how very tired he was.

In next to no time, he was leaning heavily on Nicholas as he moved out of his room for the first time since he'd woken up. He wished he had more clarity of mind in that moment, so that he might see everything he could, but it was no use. His mind was weary from pain and exhaustion, and it was all he could do to put one foot before the other. He walked over a threshold, and found a room of beautiful patterns and light colors.

"What room is this?" John grunted as he fought to get into the bed.

"Tis the Mistress' personal room, Master." Carter replied after John was safely on the mattress. The blankets were pulled over him, and the lamp in the room extinguished. The last thought that ran through his mind, was of how the style of the room suited her rather well.

A/N: I am sorry it's not very long. And rather boring, haha. But it is an update, and I am proud of it =) I have more coming up for the next chapter, lots of interaction and such ;)

I just want to say thank you again for every single person who reads this story after all this time. Your reviews are so heartfelt and warm. I can't tell you how many times I read one, and it brings tears to my eyes. You are all, each and every one of you, wonderful and amazing in your own individual ways, and you will never understand how much your kindness has helped me. When I fell down about my writing, and generally uninspired, all I have to do is go through my old reviews, and it has not ever failed to make my day better. Thank you all so much. :)