XxX
"What about flowers? You know, maybe something with lots of colors to brighten up her hospital room?"
Nigel shook his head at Emmy's latest suggestion, "Jordan hates flowers, they remind her of funerals."
As if on cue, the elevator doors opened and a man carrying an ungodly sized bouquet stumbled out, "Excuse me, could you direct me to Jordan Cavanaugh's office?" He read off the clip board, "I have a deliver from one Detective Hoyt."
"I bet you do." Nigel lowered, "If you go straight down the hall, all the way down, her office will be the last door on the left." The man bid his thanks and Nigel waved him off, wondering how much trouble he'd get in if he punched the wall. He had been running interference between Jordan and everyone per her request and he was just this side of losing it between the endless – and repetitive – inquiries, suggestions, and well wishes. Nigel knew everyone meant well, and he tried to appreciate that, but he was in a hell of his own, and it was getting harder and harder to keep it all together.
"She'll be alright." Bug offered when he noticed Nigel was lost in his thoughts again, "This is Jordan we're talking about, after all."
Nigel tried to smile, "Yeah, mate, she'll be fine."
XxX
Jordan barely listened as the doctor walked her through what the surgery would look. It's not like it would matter what nostril they went in or the size of their scalpel or tweezers, she'd be out cold, after all. What she wanted more than anything was to get this over with.
Unexpectedly, her hand wandered to her stomach. She was now past the start of her second trimester, and she had just begun to show. The bump wasn't much but it made it all so much more real. They had a final check up with Dr. Nguyen the day before and got the results of her NIPT, proving that Jordan's gut instinct was still on point and that Eilís was developing as expected.
"We will be ready in a few minutes." Dr. Sanchez excused himself, letting the trio have a few minutes alone.
"Hey, Nige, will you give us a second?" Her heart ached as she saw his face fall, taken aback by her request. They both realized this could very well be her final few moments, but, as always, he respected her wishes and promised he'd be just outside as he stepped out.
Jordan quickly turned to Garret, "I—" She tried to mask her sob, feigning a smile, "Just so you know, I wrote your name on Line 29."
Garret nodded like he knew exactly what she was talking about, "And, what is Line 29?"
"Um, legal guardian."
His brow knit, "You didn't put Nigel down?"
Jordan leaned back, futzing with her gown and wishing she had stopped by the church before checking in, "If…if I don't make it out of here—"
"Which you will."
"Ya, but if I don't come out of it as me, I…I need someone to pull the plug, after Eilís is here." She looked at him evenly, making sure her message was received, "I—I can't spend the next 40 years drooling in front of the TV. I can't live like that, and I can't do that to them."
Garret gave a steady nod, message received.
Time was fleeting and soon the prep team arrived, Nigel trailed in with them and Garret stepped aside so he could take his rightful place beside his wife. He held her hand as they wheeled the bed down the hall to the operating room.
Panic seized Jordan when the doors came into view, "If I don't make it, I—I want to be buried at St. Anne's." Fear filled her eyes, and she squeezed Nigel's hand tighter. She hurried to add, "Try to find a spot near my mom, yeah?"
"Jo, you are going to be fine." Nigel said, trying to believe it himself as he kissed her hand, "I will see you in seven hours."
They held hands as long as they could before she was pulled beyond his reach and the doors were shut. Garret clapped Nigel's shoulder and nodded towards the waiting room, ready to settle in for the long haul.
XxX
"What is taking so long?" Nigel paced before the doors, chewing on his thumbnail. Midnight had just passed, and they hadn't heard a word since Jordan went under.
A nurse appeared; her scrubs disheveled. She looked around as she pulled her mask off, her face unreadable. Nigel quickly made his way towards her.
"Dr. Macy?" She chanced.
"Nigel Townsend, I'm Jordan's husband." Nigel hurried to get out as Garret stood to join them, "Is—is she alright? We thought she'd be out by now."
"There was some hemorrhaging, but we have it under control for the most part now. The mass is larger than expected, however, and we are not sure how much longer it will be, maybe another couple hours. She is stable though and the baby is fine, I just wanted to give you an update." She was kind, her face sincere, as she gently squeezed Nigel's arm before returning to the restricted doors.
Nigel watched her go, completely lost.
"Why…why don't you go get something to eat?"
"Not hungry."
Garret sighed, "You need to get away for a while, Nigel."
"I am right where I'm supposed to be." He shook off Garret's hand, his jaw clenched.
"Look, you haven't eaten all day, I seriously doubt you've slept much the past few days, and you haven't left this waiting room since we got here. Jordan needs you to have it together when she comes out of there. For her sake, and for Eilís'." Garret found his Achilles' heel and Nigel dropped his head.
"Go for a walk, get some air and clear your head. I will let you know if there are any updates."
Nigel nodded absently as he grabbed his jacket and headed for the door, essentially banished.
His feet took him where they may. His hands were burrowed in his pockets, his eyes lingering on the broken sidewalk. He was too drained to think, to feel.
He walked until his strength started to give and he looked up, a demented expression crossing his face.
"A church, really?" Nigel sneered, turning around as if expecting this to be a prank. He started to leave but found himself unable to. The light taste of spring spun around him, and he casually looked around the still street. It had to be close to 3AM and it seemed he was the only soul awake.
With a final, defeated sigh, Nigel started up the steps. He was surprised to find the door unlocked and the lights on.
His eyes wandered over the statues and the few remaining candles flickering before them as he started up the aisle. The stained-glass panes were dark and ominous as they watched the goings-on of the grand chapel. He puffed as he ran his hand over a pew. Never had he felt so out of place.
Nigel shifted uncomfortably when he saw the Christ affixed above the altar. The carving was so lifelike, almost like it was staring right at him. Still, he couldn't help his cheeky smirk, thinking about how many people thought the goth scene was dark when they would come to church every week and sit comfortably in a pew that was overlooked by a stripped man crucified to a cross, his hands and feet pierced, and his head crowned with thorns.
His fist gently tapped the wooden rail, "What are you doing, Nigel?" He asked himself, exasperated.
His eyes came to rest on a second, less intimidating face. Her warmth drew him in, and he made his way to stand before the Lady.
"Hello." Nigel tried and winced, wondering if he looked as stupid as he felt. He dug around in his pocket and found a dollar which he dropped into the donations box before he reached for a candle and lit it. Carefully, he placed it in front of the statue before stepping back, his shoulders weighted, "I…I'm not really sure what I'm doing here, but, I don't really have anywhere else to go." He flinched, knowing how trite that must sound, "As you probably know – if your stories are anything to go by – Jordan is sick. Really sick." He cleared his throat, shifting from side to side, "And, I—I can't do anything." He shook his head, "I can't help her, I can't help our daughter. I—I'm supposed to have it all together, to have all the answers, and I…I don't." He chanced a look at the softly carved face, his attentive audience, "I—I'm not sure if you are actually there, or, even if you were, that you'd be interested in my problems, but if there is something to all this, if you are there, can you just, help her? Please, she's too good of a person, she doesn't deserve this."
Finally, he gave into the cleansing tears, his emotions overtaking him.
The sacristy doors opened, and Nigel startled. He eased only when he was met by a familiar face.
"Nigel?" Paul called, making his way towards the Englishman, "Never thought I'd see you here, and at this hour." His surprise quickly faded, "Is Jordan…"
"She's still in surgery." Nigel wiped at his nose, trying to pull himself together, "There was some bleeding, but they said it's under control now."
Paul was solemn as he turned to the delicate statue, "Ah, the Blessed Virgin, the Mother of All. She's sometimes the easiest to approach." His gaze was thoughtful, "She is usually sought out by those needing comfort and insight, she watches over mothers and those to be ones too." He had a knowing smile as he nodded his approval.
Nigel looked at the Father. He had only met him on a couple cases, and he seemed well enough as priests went. Jordan had told him that Paul had been her first love, while God had been Paul's first and last.
"I put a dollar in the box, I hope that's alright." Nigel mumbled, gesturing towards the small coffer.
"People come here when they have nowhere else to go, to find rest, refuge, hope even. There are no fees or small print that you need to worry about." Paul offered. He walked over and patted Nigel's shoulder, "Stay as long as you need."
Nigel watched as Paul moved to stand before another statue and quietly lit a candle before bowing his head in prayer. There was a sincerity to him that Nigel could admire. Paul's beliefs were drawn from a deep well; he was the first Catholic that Nigel had met whose faith was far from superficial. He walked the talk and meant it.
Nigel waited for Paul to take his leave before he ventured over to read the small name plaque, "St. Luke, the patron of physicians and artists." He grinned. His phone went off and he snatched it up when he saw the ID, but he couldn't bring himself to speak.
"Nigel?"
"I'm here." He finally managed.
"They just finished and are bringing her back to the room. She's stable and everything looks good, we're just waiting for her to wake up."
"I'm on my way." Nigel threw a quick, awkward thank you over his shoulders as he took off down the aisle.
XxX
"I'm sorry, I—I don't understand." Nigel rubbed his forehead, "If the anesthetics have worn off, why hasn't she woken up?"
"We don't know." Garret shrugged, "She was under longer than they had expected, and her body has been put through a lot, so it's probably just trying to regain its strength."
"So, what do we do now?" Bug was sitting by Jordan's bed, looking as defeated as Nigel felt.
Nigel caught sight of a small fishbowl on the nightstand and smiled. The other day Nigel had been going on and on about the studies done on how pets can assist in recovery – since he couldn't do anything practical for Jordan, Nigel simply read anything and everything he could on transnasal surgery and recovery – and apparently Bug had been listening during his senseless babbling. Nigel squeezed Bug's shoulder, knowing how lucky he was to have such a best friend.
"Now," Garret looked between the two boys, knowing he had to be their strength, "We wait."
Garret took up the chair when Bug left on a coffee run and Nigel settled into a corner of the sofa. Finally, he couldn't fight sleep any longer and exhaustion overcame him.
An hour later, as dawn broken, Jordan woke up, and began pondering about the fishbowl beside her bed. Then she remembered the surgery and the pain came rushing back. Her head throbbed and her vision was unfocused as she tried to turn her head and gain her bearings.
She brightened when she saw Garret fast asleep in the chair, Bug was curled up in the corner beside Lily, who was snuggled up to his side. Woody was sitting with his arms crossed on the sofa, out like a light, and then she found the person she was looking for. Nigel was curled up in a ball, as if he was trying to make himself as small as he could. Her dry lips parted in a small smile as she watched him doze.
As if he sensed her, Nigel began to stir, and he sat up quickly when he saw her.
"Hey, Sleeping Beauty." He moved to kneel beside the bed and claimed her hand, holding it fast. Relief washed over him.
"Is she alright?" Her voice cracked.
Nigel nodded, "Dr. Sanchez said you are both fit as fiddles." He sighed, weighing whether to share the rest of the news, "The meningioma was larger than he was hoping for, though. They got as much out as they could but part of it is wrapped around your carotid artery, so they had to leave it."
Jordan nodded, laying back to take stock. She felt like hell, but she was still conscious, she was still her as far as she could tell. Her hands found her stomach. Eilís was safe, the doctor had told Nigel as much. That felt more important than anything else at the moment.
"He said it might not be a problem, though, since they got most of it out. We'll know more in a few days." Nigel tried to smile, looking for any bit of hope he could find. He grinned playfully, a lighter thought coming to mind, "You'll never guess where I was a couple hours ago…"
She looked at him, her brow raised.
He leaned in dramatically, ready to have a bit of fun, "Church."
Jordan gave a hoarse chuckle, her eyes bright.
"I lit a candle and everything." He continued, savoring her laugh. Jordan squeezed his hand, her eyes saying what her voice couldn't.
Nigel held her hand against his face, giving it a tender kiss, "I love you too." His other hand rested upon her stomach, completing their chain.
And that is how they remained until the rest of their little family stirred to greet their Sleeping Beauty.
XxX