Part 9
Michael woke up with his face buried in the luxurious softness of Maria's hair. He breathed in the soothing scent of her deeply, allowing the smell of vanilla shampoo to waft languidly through his brain.
He snuggled closer to her tiny body, pulling her tighter to his chest. She followed his direction robotically, her body sliding stiffly towards him across the mattress. Sensing the resistance in her movements, he opened his eyes concernedly—expecting to be comforted by brown locks, instead assaulted by blonde curls.
He sighed as he fell back on the bed, wondering when he had left her world and returned to his own. They'd fallen asleep within her sanctuary after passing hours exploring recesses of each others bodies that had fallen into dusty memory. Maria had paid special attention to his wounds, both old and new, applying a healing salve of affection to their tortured surfaces. Then she had moved on to discovering exactly what it was like to age seven years, squealing in delight at the new wrinkles she found around his eyes. He had pushed her playfully away from him at that point, prepared to examine her own skin, sure that a year would have aged her in some way. He couldn't help the frown that fell across his face when he realized that she hadn't aged a day, not a minute, since he'd left seven years ago in a sudden burst of flames. The reminder was more than disheartening and they had slipped into a pensive silence, their bodies wrapped in each other's while their minds wallowed in remorse over the path their lives had taken, each wishing they could change—Michael his past, Maria her future.
Now he pushed himself off of the bed, knowing that he needed nourishment and rest before he could connect with her again. He'd been on the planet for less than a day and had already visited with her three times. The physical toll it took on him was showing and he bent over to kiss her unresponsive lips gently before slipping quietly out of the bedroom to take a shower.
Fulfilling his previous desire for an hour long soak, he exited the bathroom nearly 70 minutes later. He was debating whether his craving for food was greater than his need to see Maria once again when he heard her calling his name.
"Michael… no, no, Michael!"
The desperation in her voice stirred him into immediate action and he bolted towards her bedroom. Pushing the door open, his body snapped to rigid attention when he witnessed the sight before him. Maria was writhing on the bed, incoherent mumblings peppered with the clear sound of his name falling from her lips. The blankets were removed from her body, her arms and legs stretched towards the edges of the bed, thick leather straps binding them tightly to the down-filled surface. The obvious strain felt in her muscles was evident on her face as her expression varied from torture to grief and back in the milliseconds he could stand to watch her. His body jerked forward, his hand reaching out without thought to the harm it might cause as he lunged at the source of her agony… Dr. Rose.
"What the fvck are you doing?"
She whirled around from her position seated by Maria's side, the needle she had just emptied into her patient's vein balanced precariously between her fingers.
"Excuse me!" she snapped quickly, standing up to step away from her irate attacker.
He ignored her, his attention immediately falling back to his one concern, the further injury she had doubtlessly just caused his love. Maria writhed on the bed, her limbs twitching convulsively as her body wrestled with the injected sedative delivered by her physician. He grabbed the strap on her left arm, yanking on it forcefully as the doctor's cries of attack increased outside his range of caring.
Recognizing Michael from his unannounced visit yesterday, Dr. Rose didn't fear that he was trying to harm her patient, just that he was interfering in her own treatment of the girl—a large enough crime in itself. Seeing that she was powerless to stop the intruder, she stepped to the door, shouting for Amy and Jim to intervene.
Michael remained intent on his task, having freed her left side and moving to work on her right, still bound tightly. His vantage point from the opposite side of the bed permitted him to remove the criminal restraints while shooting deadly daggers at the supposed caregiver. The bile churning in his stomach at the cruelty one human could inflict on another, especially a helpless girl, fueled his anger and he felt blood swirl in his mouth as he bit his lip in an effort not to fell the woman with words alone.
The doctor kept her position by the door, eyeing Michael cautiously as he continued fighting with the stubborn latches on the bindings. When Amy entered the room a moment later, Dr. Rose received an infusion of courage, believing she was backed by her employer as she stepped towards the bed.
"I am warning you to desist," she threatened comically.
Michael allowed her only a cursory acidic glance with his eyes as he focused on the final bound limb, his heart burning with hatred for the doctor even as it wrenched with pain for his lover. "Do you actually think you are helping her?" he snarled, bending his head to Maria's arm once more.
"I am delivering her therapy," Dr. Margaret Rose stated authoritatively, her chest puffing out as she took a stand against the boy she should have feared but foolishly didn't.
"You call these therapy!" he shouted, holding up the last strap as he released Maria's arm. He watched as she curled her body in on itself, no doubt locked in a drug-induced sleep that sent nightmarish images coursing through her brain. He'd spent more time than he cared to remember bound by similar straps and he could feel the slow burns they rubbed into his skin even now. Unconsciously, he rubbed his wrist, flicking hair out of his eyes as he stared down at the persecutor standing before him. "These are just a modern excuse for torture," he growled.
"Now see here," she objected.
Amy reached her arm out to prevent the woman from stupidly charging at the alien looming across the room. She had been fully aware that Dr. Rose was conducting a therapy session with Maria this morning, but had no knowledge of what it entailed. Walking into the room, she was shocked herself to see the presence of straps on her daughter's limbs, items she hadn't even known were attached to the bed.
"Wait," she said shakily. "What kind of therapy is this?"
"The effective kind."
Her words were cut off by a blood-curdling scream emitting from the mouth of the girl lying on the bed. Michael dropped to Maria's side on the bed, his battle with the doctor forgotten as concern for her flooded his being. The pale figure convulsed, her body arching off the bed as spasms gripped her muscles. She fell back to the surface roughly, bouncing as another contraction washed over her, her mouth emitting the gargled cry of someone caught in horrendous torture.
"Michael, Michael no, no… don't… don't hurt… DON'T HURT HIM!" Her voice ascended into a blinding crescendo, her screams curdling the blood of every person in the room.
He grabbed her to his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around her to prevent any further injury to herself. His lips caressed her head, murmuring soft assurances into her hair as he begged for her to return to the catatonic state that looked so peaceful in comparison.
Amy was near tears as she watched Michael take control of Maria, turning her focus on the now trembling doctor. "You said 'effective' therapy?" she queried menacingly.
Dr. Rose swallowed heavily, her eyes darting from Amy to the figures on the bed and back again. She opened her mouth to speak, her voice cracking as she fought to formulate words. "I… I… it's…"
"Stop," Amy commanded. "My daughter was fine an hour ago, resting peacefully after a difficult night that we handled. Then you come in here and the next thing I know she's in restraints? Who told you to use restraints?"
"Well, it's a perfectly acceptable…"
"I said stop!" Amy shouted, stepping towards the woman as her shock at finding her daughter in such distress faded, replaced with ire for the doctor she had entrusted with Maria's care. "I don't care if it's the textbook solution for cases like hers. You've been here for a full year and nothing… no results, no cure, not even any progress! This boy," she said turning to glance back at Michael, faltering when she saw his aged face looking back at her. "This man," she corrected, "has been here less than 24 hours and already she's moving, talking… responding to us… to her family."
Amy took a final breath, struggling to calm the fury building within her as she took back control of Maria's recovery. "Your services will no longer be required doctor," she voiced coolly. "Maria has a new caregiver now."
Dr. Rose stared in shock at the woman before her, her cheeks flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and anger as she listened to Amy's decision. She was wise enough to recognize a determined parent when she saw one and thankfully remained silent as she picked up her medical bag to leave.
Amy stepped into the hallway to watch her exit the house, returning a moment later to lean heavily against the wall. "Is she okay?" she croaked to Michael.
He still held Maria in his arms, her head resting on his chest, her body no longer fighting the uninvited drugs coursing within her. "I think the drugs knocked her out," he said quietly, afraid his words would wake her.
"Probably for the best," Amy said quietly, watching as Michael gently laid her back against her pillows. Her body wasn't completely stiff yet, the drugs acting as a relaxant to her tired muscles. She sunk back into her pillows, one hand still reaching for him as he backed away from the bed.
"I… I didn't know she was…" Amy started, her voice breaking as the adrenaline rush drained from her body, leaving her near exhaustion as tears formed in her eyes. "If I'd known she was hurting her."
"You had no way," Michael said quickly, leaving Maria's side to cross the room. "I'm sure she had some convoluted sense that this was the right thing to do, I just can't imagine…" He turned back to stare at the red welts rising on Maria's appendages, wincing at the obvious pain they had to be causing. Turning back to Amy, he lowered his gaze to the floor. "I would never hurt her," he mumbled quietly.
"I know that," she replied quickly, reaching a tentative hand out to touch his arm.
He flinched, remaining within her grasp but tensing as he forced the words from his mouth. "What you just said, about me caring for her," he raised his eyes slowly to meet hers as he spoke. "I appreciate the words, but I'm not sure if I can help her. I don't know what…"
"I'm sure," she said softly, squeezing his arm tightly in assurance.
"You know I'll try," he said quickly, his eyes flitting everywhere on her face but her gaze as he struggled with the words formulating in his head. "I'm the one who put her there and I'll make sure she comes out of it."
"Michael," Amy gasped, her mouth widening as she stared at the man before her. "You are not responsible for this. It's not your fault that she's here."
"Well," he drawled slowly, her eyes now dropping completely out of sight again as his head bent once more, his brain mentally positioning his sword towards his chest to fall upon. "If I'd never met her this wouldn't have happened, right?"
"Where is this coming from?"
"I heard you… I heard you say 'if she'd never met me…'" his voice trailed off as Amy's eyes widened in understanding.
"Michael," she said softly. "What I said was…"
"No," he interrupted. "I heard you, I shouldn't have listened but I did, and I just want you to know that I wish I never met her too. I wish I was never here, never caused this. If I could take it all back I would."
"Michael," Amy repeated, this time her voice taking on an edge as she fought to correct the obvious error of his thoughts. "What I said was 'if he'd never loved you he wouldn't have come back.'"
His head snapped up as the truth of her words settled in his brain. "If…" he mumbled blindly.
Her face softened, her hand leaving his arm to rise up to his cheek. Gently she caressed the weathered face of one who had seen far too much pain in his short years, yet still someone found the capacity to love another so completely. It stirred her into shame at her own approach to the emotion over the years.
"Son," she said quietly, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth as she emphasized the word slightly. "I can call you that because that's what you are to me," she added, stopping any objection he had to the nickname. "For a long time I blamed you for what happened to her. I blamed you and Max and Isabel—even Liz and Kyle for leaving her here when all she wanted was to go with you. I know that if she'd told me she wanted to go I would have said no, but I also know that nothing would have stopped her from going… except for one thing—you. When Jim told me that it was you who forced her to stay, I cried for three days for all the hatred I had directed towards your memory."
"I know you loved her, love her—then and now, and I would, am, entrusting her life with you Michael. If anyone can bring her back it's you and no matter what I thought of Dr. Rose's method, if you want to strap her down and drug her, then so be it."
Michael listened to Amy's words, his emotions wavering from acceptance, to surprise, to shock at her final words. His eyes widened as he listened to her offer him torture devices to treat her daughter.
She watched him closely, gauging his reaction to every word she spoke. At the final offering she smiled lightly, lowering her hand to his shoulder as she explained, "I trust your judgment. I can't help her," she said, her voice breaking as she paused to regain control of her raging emotions. "I don't know how to help her, but you do, somewhere deep inside, you know the right thing to do and you're doing it. I don't understand it, but I trust it. I trust you."
Michael nodded dumbly as Amy finished, realizing that no words were available in his brain to formulate a response.
"Come," she said simply, turning away from him.
He looked back at Maria longingly, hesitating at Amy's offer.
"She needs sleep and you need food," she prodded, reaching back to grasp his hand tightly in hers.
"Thank…" Michael mumbled, planting his feet firmly on the floor as he battled to express even a small portion of the gratitude swelling within him. "Thank you."
Amy smiled, her eyes shining with tears as she pulled him gently from the room, intent on feeding him until at least five extra pounds showed on his lean frame.
As the door closed on the room, a small smile glimmered on the face of the catatonic girl lying on the bed. From within her house, Maria stood in the doorway of an empty bedroom, the normally weathered wood floors and faded wallpapered walls replaced with the sterile cleanliness of a hospital room. A lone bed lay in the center of the room, a cluster of stainless steel machines pushed tight to the sides. The body on display was connected to each of the life-sustaining devices, the tortured soul twitching as muscles fighting for freedom pulled against the restraints holding them. She flexed her own wrists subconsciously, no welts present to reveal the injury her body had just incurred, but the memory of the pain as sharp as if it had happened to her in this reality as well.
She had panicked when she had first found him, opening the door expecting to see empty walls instead finding a portal into a universe of torture. She'd screamed when she saw the strange man injecting the elongated needle into his arm, his arm clenching uselessly as a too tight strap held it firmly in place. They were hurting him, they were hurting…
Then she'd heard the conversation with her mother and Michael resonating through the walls of the house and calmed, secure in the knowledge that the boy she had spent last night with was safe in the 'real' world, probably helping himself to a second serving of pancakes right now.
Now she breathed deeply, remaining calm as she focused in more closely on the figure lying in the bed, on the brown locks spilling over the pillow, his chiseled features contorting in pain as his neurons fired agonizing bursts of resistance to the torture afflicting his unconscious body. Maria arrived at her conclusion with a clear mind—it was him, she knew it. And if the Michael that had come back from the future was safe in the Deluca kitchen, then the boy on the bed had to be the Michael from the present.
Now she just had to figure out a way to rescue him.