Michael glanced at his speedometer and backed off of the accelerator, although his every instinct was to floor it. Having spent an enjoyable and energetic afternoon with his sons, first at a restaurant geared exclusively to families with young children and then at the park, as they were returning to the car Michael's mobile phone began ringing. Surprised and curious to see Carla's name flashing across its monitor Michael answered. After calming a hysterical Carla enough to get the gist of the story, Michael strapped the boys into their car seats and headed for Walter's house, which was on the way to the hospital. He didn't allow himself to think of Nikita until he had dropped the kids off, cautioning them to mind their "Unca" Walter.
Arriving at the hospital, Michael pulled into emergency, parked the car and headed for the entrance. Stepping off the elevator onto the maternity floor Michael stalked purposefully toward the nurses' station. "Nikita Samuelle. Where is she please?" he asked in a polite, if somewhat strained voice.
Looking up from the desk with a professional smile, the nurse reached for her patient roster, "Are you any relation to Ms. Samuelle sir?"
"Her husband," came the curt rejoinder.
"One moment please," turning back to Michael the nurse said, "Mr. Samuelle your wife has gone into labour. She's in operating room..."
"Operating room? Why is she in an operating room?" he cut her off, "She's only thirty-two weeks along."
"Sir, you will have to speak with Dr. McNeily."
Michael's facial expression hardened, stripping it of even a minimal veneer of civility, revealing a man dangerous to cross. The green fire in his eyes cooled, icing over to granite-like jade. "Where is my wife?" he bit out in a gentle murmur, making it all the more frightening for its quite menace.
Answering in a terrified stammer the nurse told him and fled down the hall in the opposite direction. Michael stalked down the corridor, past the maternity ward waiting room toward the surgical wing.
A startled Susan flinched as the doors slammed open to admit a pale Michael. His eyes immediately zeroed in on an unconscious Nikita atop the table. Motioning for Dr. Jannerson, the third year surgical resident, to close, Susan handed him the sutures, stripped off her gloves and walked toward Michael.
Taking Michael firmly by the arm Susan tried to lead him out of the operating room. It was like trying to move a mountain with her index finger. Realizing that he wasn't moving Susan changed tacks and said, "Michael, I need to speak with you and we can not do so in here."
Michael looked down at her as her voice began to register over the thundering panic pounding in his head. Her surgical scrubs were stained red with his wife's blood, "How is she Susan?"
"Please Michael," she said gesturing toward the hall.
No sooner had the doors swung closed behind them did Michael shoot a barge of questions at her, "What happened? How is she? Is the baby in danger?"
"Michael, Nikita went into premature labour about two hours ago and her friend Carla brought her in. As we were attempting to evaluate the situation she begin to fade into and out of consciousness. Just as we begin to stabilize her, she began to experience Grand Mal seizures. Her protein levels were dangerously elevated and her blood pressure was causing some concern as well. We didn't have the option of stopping the contractions with medications because of the eclampsia. Once we got the seizures under control the fetal monitor indicated that the baby was in some distress. I deemed it necessary to perform an emergency Caesarean Section. She and the baby came through the C-section fine, but we'll be monitoring Nikita closely throughout the night."
"Can I see them?"
"Nikita will be taken to recovery soon and when she comes out from under the anesthesia she'll be taken to her room and you can see her then. But you can see your daughter now." Susan assured him with a gentle smile.
The Neo-natal unit was outfitted in soft yellows, warm blues and muted light. Susan stopped beside what appeared to be a state of the art infant incubator. Following her glaze, Michael looked through the glass and his heart nearly stopped. He saw fathomless blue eyes, and a tuff of nearly white blond hair atop the baby's tiny head.
"She's so small," he whispered reverently.
"Yes she is. She is nearly eighteen weeks early, but for a preemie, very healthy. Her lungs are fully developed, allowing her to breath on her own and she is alert and responding well. She weighed in at just under five pounds, which is a very good birth weight for premature babies. This contraption is used for all of our preemies, she's fit as a fiddle. Would you like to hold her?"
"Yes. Please."
Holding the baby, Susan approached Michael and passed his daughter to him. Michael took the baby in his arms and smiled down at her. She was so tiny and fragile. "She's so much smaller than her brothers were when they were born," Michael murmured.
"Mon Dieu," he said, his voice full, "she's beautiful." At the sound of his voice the baby opened her eyes and stared at her father with a steady unblinking glaze. And it was in the space of those few seconds that another daddy fell like a ton of bricks beneath the spell of his little girl. It was love at first sight.
Pleased with herself, she blew a raspberry and relaxed in her father's embrace, content in the knowledge that she was adored.
Normally a very still and stoic man in the face of trouble, Michael paced the corridors outside of recovery like a caged tiger. He had experienced the deepest of depths and the highest of heights in a matter of hours. A yawning, crippling fear had taken hold of him since Carla's call and it still held him in its relentless grip. Nikita was scheduled to be transferred to her room any minute now but his fears would not be allayed until he saw her.
"Michael."
Michael turned and saw Susan walking slowly toward him. Whatever Michael saw in Susan's face prompted him into action. He intercepted her before she could reach him and cut off whatever she was about to say.
"I want to see her now," his voice was husky with emotion.
"This way Michael."
Michael briefly paused at the door, visibly gathering himself; he reached to push the door open. When he walked into the room, all he could see was Nikita. Pale cheeks streaked with tears. Her long blond hair was damp, framing her still sweaty face, lines of exhaustion around her mouth and eyes. She was beautiful and very still.
A powerful blow of grief shook Michael to his soul, unleashing an anguished cry, "No!"
He went to her and took her limp body into his arms. He held her as Susan tried to explain the unexplainable, that his wife was dead. Michael held her for an eternity, rocking her, kissing her, weeping for her, for their children, and for himself.
"Kita. Nikita. Nikita!"