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Chapter Forty Six:

Faith

I'm sitting here trying to imagine what she looks like, just laying there, asleep… asleep just like she's been for the last five or six god damned hours. I sort of lost track of time between dozing and waking – but the last time I asked someone, it was almost two a.m. That someone was the nurse who brought me a blanket. I hadn't even noticed that the room was chilly until she mentioned it. Anna. She's one of the nicer nurses on this floor – she's the one who didn't make me move my chair so she could do whatever it was she had to do. She worked around me – so I tried to stay out of her way and even let go of Beth's hand so she could check something on that arm.

Anna sat with us a while – she told me I shouldn't let the fact that Beth hasn't woken up yet get to me, but I'm pretty sure she didn't really expect me to believe that I shouldn't be worried. And even though I said I wasn't hungry, Anna brought me some crackers with peanut butter and a carton of chocolate milk – maybe she's psychic too. I'm not sure how long ago that was, but I'm pretty sure it's still somewhere in the wee hours of the morning.

And I'm just sitting here in the dark, hanging onto the hand of an angel who may not even ever wake up… it doesn't even feel as if she's moved since I got here…

I turn my head so that I'm facing her, and I try to pretend I can see her, blond hair and tanned skin – those green eyes of her hers are closed. Her face is still – but she's beautiful…

"Maybe I should do you the favour of getting the Hell out of your life. Maybe I should break that promise and just go kill that fuckmook you married, then head for the hills to spare you the grief of having to look at me everyday – but first – first I need you to wake to wake up and tell me you're going to be all right. I need to hear your voice one more time, Ange – then – then maybe I'll go away so you can have the kind of life you deserve, because you deserve the world and the only thing you're ever going to get from me is grief. But it was good for a little while, wasn't it? Even with all the bullshit I put you through – it was at least a little bit good, for just a little while – right?" I give her hand a gentle squeeze. She doesn't respond… I really wasn't expecting her to. "I hope it was a little bit good for you, just for a little while, because it was so much more than just 'good' for me, Ange. It was fucking amazing. You are the most incredible woman – so much more than a fuckmook like me deserves. I don't know how I got you, even for a little while – but my Christ, I'm glad I did. You saved my life – you showed me – you showed me things I'd just forgotten all about. But we both knew it wouldn't really last this – this whatever it is we've been doing. Nothing good ever lasts, right?" Christ, everything inside aches… my head has stopped throbbing, thanks to the Vicodin, but – but everything else is just so empty…so black… so fucking, fucking cold… only it just won't go numb again. It's cold, but it's not numb. Please don't die on me… please just wake up… just tell me you're going to be all right. I need to hear your voice… just one more time, I need to hear your voice… then I can go… "You – you brought so much – happiness into my life. So much – normal. I think I'd honestly forgotten what it was to be that kind of happy, what it felt like to really look forward to getting up in the morning. What it was like to just have a cup of coffee and cigarette with someone – someone I really would have given anything to get to spend the rest of my life with –– I really do love you, Ange, even if you never believe it –" even if you could never love me…. But my voice just won't work any more, because my throat has constricted up too tight.

So I sit.

And I hold onto her hand because I'm afraid that if I let got, she might vanish, as if she never even existed… and who knows, maybe this whole thing is just the product of my deranged psyche. Alison isn't so far off the mark when it comes to my head. I never went after the neighbour's pets – but – I'm just not wired up like other people. I've never regretted that until now…

Darkness overtakes darkness – I recognize exhaustion for what it is and let it take me again. It hurts just a little less when I'm sleeping… and I'm not sleeping long enough at any one time to dream….

…… I become slowly conscious of my surroundings – not much has changed. There's a little more activity in the hall –

"Morning, Cowboy," says a voice that's little more than a hoarse little whisper.

I'm afraid to breathe – afraid to move. Please let this be real…

She squeezes my hand, very gently – no, nix that, it's not gentle, it's weak.

"I'm ok," she tells me. Her voice sounds anything but ok. "Cicily – ?"

"She's fine – she's fine, Ange."

"I knew she would be. I knew you'd find her – keep her safe."

And – she sounds so sure, too… "I'm sorry," I begin. Sorry seems so fucking lame – but what else is there?

"No – don't be."

"Ange – "

"Shhh – I'm ok, Shel. And – I had the strangest dream. It was really just a dream – but it was kinda nice."

"What – what was it?"

"You and me – we were sitting on this bridge – it's a place I used to play when I was a little girl, in Alabama. It was a perfect Southern spring day with clear blue skies and a bright sun – but there are trees all around, so it's not really beating down on us, it just makes the air feel warm."

I can't quite help but smile because I really can picture it in my head.

"It even smelled just the way I remember it, too," she continues. "Warm and wet and woodsy. Green. It smelled green. I was about seven – and you were like fifteen or sixteen – which I guess is about right, but kind of sick and wrong if you think about it," she laughs just a little – only it comes out sounding more like a strangled cough followed by a low moan of pain. "I'm ok," she assures me, before I've even gotten up, "That just hurt."

"I should – get a nurse – or something – " because I really don't know what to do.

"Doctor will be in soon – it's seven – morning rounds. Nurses are changing over – and there's nothing they can do but tell me it's good to see me awake and ask me how I feel."

"How do you feel?"

"I got hit with a BB pellet when I was eight – this is about a thousand times worse."

"I guess that's about right."

She chuckles – it sounds just a little bit more like a laugh.

"So – what were we doing in this dream of yours?" I ask – the more I hear her voice, the more I'm beginning to believe that she's really ok. That this isn't a dream.

"Just sitting – dangling our feet over the edge of the bridge – yours were long enough to touch the water, but mine weren't. Mine never were. We were eating boiled peanuts – sharing a bag. I remember that my hair was done in these two long braids – I used to wear my hair long when I was little, but only my mother could get it into braids. When I looked up at you and you just smiled – that cute little smile of yours. Even though I was just seven, I thought you were kind of sexy."

I laugh, just a little. My angel has a very warped imagination, but do I like the image of us sitting together like that (although I'm not real fond of boiled peanuts. Some things are an acquired taste and as much as she's a Southern girl at heart, I am definitely a Yankee…) The only thing I don't want to know is if she dreamed me with eyes or big gaping holes…

"You had your hair tied back into a pony tail," Beth continues, "And you had this little mustache thing going and just a little bit of a scraggly beard. And – you were wearing a yellow gingham shirt that was so awful – come to think of it, you really would wear a yellow gingham shirt, wouldn't you?"

I laugh a little harder and – and – and – this really is real – only that is just so fucking overwhelming – it's the only thing I've wanted and – and –

"Shhhh – Sheldon – I'm really ok," she gives my hand a little tug to bring me to my feet, which is the only way I can really get closer to her. "I'm ok, I'm here," she tells me in probably the strongest voice she can muster (it's not real strong.)

I press her palm to my lips because I'm honestly afraid to lean over and kiss her – but – but this is good – oh Christ, she's really right here. She's here and she's alive and she's awake…

"Just please tell me you're not really going to leave me now."

"What?" Did she hear me? Or is she just – just doing that thing of hers again?

"I know how you think, Sheldon. And right now you're thinking that Cicily and I would be better off without you – safer – "

"You would be safer without me."

"My mother died in a grocery store parking lot because some idiot was drunk at nine o'clock in the morning – what makes you think your leaving will keep me safe from – from something like that?"

"That was just – random. What happened yesterday was because of me. You'll never be safe as long as I'm around."

"The only that that'll happen if you leave is that – that my heart will break – and so will my daughter's. And – if you don't really want this, ok, that's not enough reason for you to stick around – but if you do – "

"I just don't want anything to ever happen to either of you because of me," I pull back just a little, realizing that – that there is dampness on my cheeks and it's coming from – from what used to be eyes – only – it doesn't feel like blood…

"This isn't the first time I've seen you cry," she tells me very quietly.

I open my mouth – but nothing really comes out. I just – I don't know what to say… I haven't cried since I was ten.

"There were a couple of times, back in Mexico – you'd wake up, shaking – crying. Then – that day after your sister got through with you, when you took that walk and I had to come out and find you because – because I was afraid you'd just keep walking and be too damned proud – or vain or stubborn – to admit you'd gotten lost."

"I didn't realize – " oh fuck me, but I really didn't realize. I wipe the remaining moister from my face – I didn't even think I could…

"I know. I didn't want to say anything because – you are proud. And – maybe just a little bit vain."

I have to smile at that one. I'm more than a little vain and I think we both know it. (My insides are all in knots over here, though. I want to go – I need to go, to let go – that's what they say you're supposed to do if you really love someone, right? If you love them let them go… but I need her in my life. I want her there. I don't want to leave…) I feel Beth's hand on mine and I let myself hold her – Christ, but I do love her…

"Please – please don't go away just because you're afraid of me getting hurt."

"Beth – you were shot in the chest – you almost – you almost died," that last is just barely a whisper because saying that word out loud really fucking hurts. "I don't know what I would have done if I'd lost you."

"Than think about what I'd do to me if you walked out on me now."

"I wouldn't leave you while you were still laid up – " I would never walk out on here like this… no fuckmook, you'd wait until she was better and then ditch and run…

"You know what I mean. Think about what I'd feel like if you walked out on me just because you didn't want me getting hurt. Please, Sheldon – please say we haven't come this far just to – to lose it now."

"Why would you even believe me –?" After everything I've put her through, after all the bullshit, all the grief, all the fucking pain, why would she believe a single word that came out of my mouth?

"I told you. I trust you. I believe you. I believe in you."

And – and I don't get the chance to respond to that, because I hear footsteps coming in the door. It's Dr. Reynolds (he doesn't announce himself, but he begins with 'good morning' and I recognize his voice.) He seems very pleased to see Beth awake – and not at all pleased to see me. (Now ask me if I care.)

Reynolds puts himself on the other side of the bed and introduces himself to Beth – I'm not real ready to let go of her hand, though, so I stay right where I am while they get through the pleasantries.

"How long have you been awake?" He asks her.

"I woke up around six."

But when I woke up she told me it was almost seven – so – so she was awake – and she just let me sleep…

"How much of yesterday do you remember?" Reynolds asks. (He still sounds fucking condescending to me.)

"Everything up until the bullet hit."

He just sighs, probably nods. "So how are you feeling?"

"Other than the obvious, all right. I'm a nurse," she adds. "So that makes me both a good patient and a bad one."

"Oh?"

"I'm not going to exaggerate anything – and I'm going to understand everything you're not telling me as well as everything you do say."

There's a wee bit of silence on his end…

"I've been awake for over an hour, doctor – you don't think I've noticed that I can't quite wiggle my toes?"

She… can't… oh Christ… I feel like my own legs are about to give out… only sitting down would mean letting go of her and I'm just not ready to do that…

"The bullet lodged near your spine," Reynolds says in a decidedly professional tone. "I recovered it with minimal complications – but – there's been some damage."

"How – much – damage?" I recognize the sound of my voice, but I'm not really quite aware of the fact that I've spoken.

Beth gives my hand a little squeeze, but it sounds more like she's talking to Reynolds than to me: "Everything torso up seems fine and I think I can feel my feet – but I know about phantom 'pain.' It doesn't hurt, but I know what I think I'm feeling could be all in my head," she tells him – and I'm listening to this but – but it feels like I'm this spectator watching a play because it she's way too fucking calm – and – and she didn't fucking say anything to me about not being able to wiggle her toes… (and yeah, that makes me angry – I'm not even sure why, but it does. She should have told me… only I know how she thinks, too. If she'd told me, she knew I wouldn't have even considered leaving her, not… like this… not… Christ, I can't even think the word… and it's all my fault…)

I hear Reynolds move around to the end of the bed – he asks her if she can feel this – this – this – this – this… Beth answers alternately in the negative or positive – only I can't fucking see, so I don't know if she's feeling him touch her feet or just imagining that she is. And this is really all my fault… why the fuck does she even want me around?

"All right – I want you to try and push against my hand – good. Now the other foot – good."

(Good – fucking good? What the does fucking good mean? Oh this just isn't happening…)

"Try moving your left foot – now the right – good. Do you feel this – ?"

"That tickles," she sounds like she's close to squirming – her knees. Christ – she can still feel her knees. But… but she can't move her toes…

"Good. How about that – ?"

"Yes – but not as much – I feel pressure – but – I don't really 'feel' anything. Weight – no sensation."

"All right –"

"So ah – anybody want to clue in the blind guy?" I finally can't keep quiet any longer.

"It's better than I would have expected," Reynolds says, moving back to the other side of her. "As soon as you feel up to it, I'm going to get a physical therapist in to see you." Of course that's directed at Beth.

"The sooner the better," she tells him. "What do you honestly think the outlook is?"

He sighs again – I really don't like that. "It'll take time, and a lot of work," her says. (His tone doesn't exactly sound encouraging, either.) "But I'd say that maybe eight, ten months of really hard work – you can expect sixty to seventy percent mobility – in a year, maybe as much as eighty percent. I wouldn't expect more than that, though."

I think I'm really ready to fall over – but she's just calm. "That's fair enough."

Fair enough… how can that be fair enough…?

"Good – if you think you're up to trying to keep something down, I'll start you out on clear liquids – maybe bump it up to softs tomorrow if you do all right today."

"Sounds good," she tells him, giving my hand another little squeeze. It really doesn't help me feel any better about any of this.

"I've got you on an epidural for the pain – but I'd like to get that out in the next couple of days – I probably don't have to tell you that the sooner we get you onto oral pain killers and up and moving as much as possible, the better." (Yeah, Reynolds is pretty much ignoring me, all right.)

"I know the drill, doc – I've done some PT work – so – like I said, I'm both a very good patient – and a really rotten one." (Beth is ignoring me too, except for that little squeeze to my hand.)

He chuckles just a little, "I'll order your breakfast and see about stopping back in around lunch time – and don't be afraid to hit the call button if you need anything. Mr. Sands – " he probably does something idiotic like nod in my direction, then exits himself from the room, at which point I fall back into that chair.

"It's not as bad as it sounds," Beth tries to tell me (yeah, like I'm buying that.)

"Why the Hell didn't you say something – you know I can't see – "

"Even if you could see, you wouldn't have known if I didn't tell you."

Which of course is true… however, "You should have told me."

She doesn't get a chance to reply to that before someone comes in – I just sit there while the person (young, male) arranges stuff – it sounds like all he's brought is a pitcher of water and a plastic cup – but Beth is more than happy to have it – she didn't even bother to tell me that she was thirsty. But – I guess I really am pretty fucking useless to her, huh? (How much use could I be…? And this is all my fault... if she hadn't gotten involved with me… my Christ, she really may never walk again… even if she isn't angry at me now, how long will it really be before she resents me for this? How long will it be before she wakes up one morning and tells me that she hates me?)

Moment's later another young man (or maybe the same one, I can't tell) arrives with her 'breakfast' (I've been on clear liquid hospital 'food' – it's about as appetizing at it sounds.) I just sit there and listen as she drinks her breakfast, wondering what I'm really going to do because even if I haven't lost her yet, I know it's only a matter of time…

"Exactly how long are you planning on sulking over there?" Beth asks me at last. It sounds like she's finished with her liquid meal.

"I'm not sulking."

"Like Hell you aren't."

"Ange – you can't move your feet – can you even move your legs?" And it's my fault…

"You didn't pull the trigger, Sheldon."

"No – I just put you in front of the gun," there's this real angry edge to my voice – it isn't really directed at her – it's the whole fucking universe I'm mad at. "You also didn't answer my question, Darlin'," I add. Ok, on that score I am a little mad at her. She knows I couldn't see anything that the doc was doing to her; she knows just how in the dark I am over here and how fucking lost that makes me feel. She knows I can't stand uncertainty.

"I can move them a little – more the right than the left. But if you think for one second I'm not going to walk again – "

"Sixty percent mobility?"

"Or more."

"But not one hundred percent." My Christ, she'll never really walk again – she'll never be able to have a garden or – or do any of the things I'm sure she must love doing. And it's really all my fault…

"So is that it? You don't want to get stuck with a cri– "

"Don't you fucking dare – " and I regret my tone the instant those words are out of my mouth, but damn it, I know what she was about to say. I'm not even sure if it's the word, or the very real hurt I heard in her voice just then – or maybe it's just that I can't believe she thinks I'd run out on her just because – because she'll never really walk again (sixty percent mobility…? How can anyone call that walking?) "Don't you dare use that fucking word," I finally finish in a tone that's only slightly less hostile than the one I started with.

"Just – just get out of here for a little while, ok? Go get some air – take a walk and blow off some steam or something, before we both say anything else we're going to regret." (She sounds kinda pissed too…)

"Blowing off some steam would entail blowing someone's fucking head off – probably the first God damned person I run into." And I'm not kidding here, amigos. I really want to kill someone and I'm not real sure I care who (although there are a couple of people near the top of that list, I just don't expect to have the good fortune to run into any of them in the next fifteen minutes… but a man can have his fantasies.)

"Look – Shel – I get it that you're pissed at me – "

"I'm not pissed at you. I'm pissed at me. I should never have put you in a position where something like this could happen – and don't go back to what happened to your mother. That was different – that was just random. This wasn't."

"I know that. But you are pissed at me."

"Only for thinking that I could ever run out on you because – because of this."

"I'm sorry."

"Ange – I wouldn't just ditch and run on you – "

"It's not going to be an easy recovery. Even sixty percent is – is going to be an uphill battle, believe me. But I am going to walk again. It's just that the truth is I wouldn't blame you if you didn't want to stick around for it – but I don't want you sticking around just because you feel like it's your fault and so you have to stay. I kind of feel damned if I do and damned if I don't right now, because I don't want you to leave but I don't want you sticking around for the wrong reasons, either."

"How about I just stick around because I want to?"

"It's really not going to be easy."

"I don't care. Look, I can be a real fuckmook sometimes – I'm a guy, it just comes natural. And I really do think you'd be better off if you told me just – just exit stage left and never come back – but I'm kinda glad you haven't." So far…

"Only kind of glad?" she asks – but I'm real sure she's smiling.

"More than kind of glad, Ange," I reach down and find her hand – and she doesn't hesitate or shy away from my touch. "I know what I was thinking – what I said – but the truth is that I don't know if I could leave, even if maybe I know I should."

"No, you shouldn't," she pulls my hand to her lips and gives it a little bit of a kiss. "But we can only get through this – I can only get through it – if you stop blaming yourself and just – just understand that it's going to be a really, really hard year. And you're not allowed to treat me like I'm going to break."

"Not allowed, huh?" I manage a real smile.

"Not allowed. I don't want sympathy any more than you do – it won't help. And – this time next year, you're going to take me dancing."

"What if I don't know how to dance?"

"Than you've got a whole year to learn."

I lean in very carefully and brush my lips against her forehead; Beth holds me there for a moment – and as much as I really wish I could just feel all of her against me, this does feel good. "You really don't know how afraid I was that I'd lost you," I whisper to her.

"Yes I do. I was never really afraid, you know."

"You weren't?"

"No. I knew – I just knew. I knew you'd keep Cicily safe – and I knew I'd wake up and wherever I was, you'd be there with me. I think I knew you were with me even when I was still out."

"How do you do that?"

"What, have faith?"

"Have faith in somethingbesides one more screw-over."

"You know Milo had nothing to do with what happened yesterday," Bethtells me– and yeah, that is just exactly what I was thinking about.

And I just smile at my little p-sycic. "I know." I really do. I know I jumped tothat conclusion – but I'm having a fuck of a hard time making myself he couldreally have done anything that would hurt Beth and the girls. I don't even think he could have done anything that would hurt me, not like this, anyway. He's stuck his neck out too far, been too much of a – of a friend. (Yeah, I spent a good deal of last night dissecting every conversation me and Milo have ever had, too…) And I know what that means: if he didn't sell me out…

I feel Beth shake her head, "I don't think so, Shel."

"Sweetheart – those are the only two cards on the table here. If he didn't tell them where to find us – you – and he didn't call to warn me that Collins had left the stage, there just isn't any other option."

"Sure there is. You just don't want to think about it."

And – I she's right about that too. I really don't want to think about Milo in a dark little room somewhere…

Beth puts her armsgingerlyaround my neck (I can feel where she's got an IV stuck in) and pulls me in just a little closer. I just hold her. Ormaybe she's holding me.

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The kiss sweetest
And touch so warm
The smile kindest
In this world so cold and strong
So close to the flame
Burning brightly
It won't fade away
And leave us lonely
The arms safest
And words all good
The faith deepest
In this world so cold and cruel
So close to the flame
Burning brightly
It won't fade away
And leave us lonely

– Him –

("Close to the Flame")