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I wake up with a hand on my shoulder. "Detective Goren?"
Blinking the blurriness out of my eyes, I see a doctor in full scrubs standing over me. He's got pale blond hair, pale blue eyes, and long bony hands that remind me of crackling dead twigs. "Sir, we have to give Detective Eames treatment now."
I swallow hard and look back at Eames. She seems even whiter than before and the pulse I felt flickering in her wrist, which lay next to my ear, was weak and faltering. Reluctantly, the stiff ache in my legs creaking, I stand up and walk numbly to the door, where I turn back for a final look before more doctors close in on her.
Outside the room there is a long bench, strewn with sheets from faded newspapers. I collapse onto it and bury my face in my hands. I am tired, so tired, and I can't even begin to think about what will happen next. Bleakly, I wonder if time is supposed to go on after something like this.
Half an hour passes. I pace, try to read the newspapers upside down, try to drink some coffee, try to straighten out my clothes, and do some more pacing. It's on my seventh or eighth session of stalking up and down the hallway when I hear it: a low murmur of voices in Eames's room. One doctor, then another, leaves through the open doorway and disappears down the corridor.
I only have to wait for a moment-a moment filled with sickening dread- before the third doctor appears. "Your partner's well enough to speak a little," he tells me with a smile. "Five minutes, but then she must go to sleep."
I give him a grateful grin in passing as I creep quietly into Eames's room. Her blue eyes open as I kneel by her bedside. "Goren..." Her voice is faint. "What happened?"
I take her hand and rest it against my cheek. "It's not important. How are you feeling?"
"Confused," Eames replies, still persistent. "All I can remember is people shouting and then you holding me..." She focuses her gaze on me, on my rumpled clothes and unshaven face. "Goren, how long have you been here?"
"Ever since you've been here," I answer with a wan smile.
Eames slowly shakes her head, her eyes incredulous. "Why haven't you left already?"
"I wanted to make sure you came through... and you did." I clasp both her hands in mine; they are warm now, and steady. "You've haven't left us."
"Sorry, you're not that lucky," she says, with one of those smiles that always makes my heart race.
I'm about to protest when the doctor pokes his head around the doorway. "I'm sorry, sir, but Detective Eames needs her sleep."
"Okay, okay." I turn back to see Eames rolling her eyes, a rueful look on her face. "I promise I'll come back, all right?" When she nods, I hold my breath and lean down to gently kiss her cheek.
Then the doctor is ushering me out, and I'm walking down to the front doors. The autumn air is cold and clean with the bite of frost outside, and people are shivering in their jackets and light scarves. As I head for the subway station, I feel lighter-stronger-happier than I have in a long while.
More later, I promise...
I wake up with a hand on my shoulder. "Detective Goren?"
Blinking the blurriness out of my eyes, I see a doctor in full scrubs standing over me. He's got pale blond hair, pale blue eyes, and long bony hands that remind me of crackling dead twigs. "Sir, we have to give Detective Eames treatment now."
I swallow hard and look back at Eames. She seems even whiter than before and the pulse I felt flickering in her wrist, which lay next to my ear, was weak and faltering. Reluctantly, the stiff ache in my legs creaking, I stand up and walk numbly to the door, where I turn back for a final look before more doctors close in on her.
Outside the room there is a long bench, strewn with sheets from faded newspapers. I collapse onto it and bury my face in my hands. I am tired, so tired, and I can't even begin to think about what will happen next. Bleakly, I wonder if time is supposed to go on after something like this.
Half an hour passes. I pace, try to read the newspapers upside down, try to drink some coffee, try to straighten out my clothes, and do some more pacing. It's on my seventh or eighth session of stalking up and down the hallway when I hear it: a low murmur of voices in Eames's room. One doctor, then another, leaves through the open doorway and disappears down the corridor.
I only have to wait for a moment-a moment filled with sickening dread- before the third doctor appears. "Your partner's well enough to speak a little," he tells me with a smile. "Five minutes, but then she must go to sleep."
I give him a grateful grin in passing as I creep quietly into Eames's room. Her blue eyes open as I kneel by her bedside. "Goren..." Her voice is faint. "What happened?"
I take her hand and rest it against my cheek. "It's not important. How are you feeling?"
"Confused," Eames replies, still persistent. "All I can remember is people shouting and then you holding me..." She focuses her gaze on me, on my rumpled clothes and unshaven face. "Goren, how long have you been here?"
"Ever since you've been here," I answer with a wan smile.
Eames slowly shakes her head, her eyes incredulous. "Why haven't you left already?"
"I wanted to make sure you came through... and you did." I clasp both her hands in mine; they are warm now, and steady. "You've haven't left us."
"Sorry, you're not that lucky," she says, with one of those smiles that always makes my heart race.
I'm about to protest when the doctor pokes his head around the doorway. "I'm sorry, sir, but Detective Eames needs her sleep."
"Okay, okay." I turn back to see Eames rolling her eyes, a rueful look on her face. "I promise I'll come back, all right?" When she nods, I hold my breath and lean down to gently kiss her cheek.
Then the doctor is ushering me out, and I'm walking down to the front doors. The autumn air is cold and clean with the bite of frost outside, and people are shivering in their jackets and light scarves. As I head for the subway station, I feel lighter-stronger-happier than I have in a long while.
More later, I promise...