Jaime came out of the anesthetic like a drowning victim pulling for the surface. The first thing she saw when her eyes began to focus was Rudy's mustache. She was too groggy to be disappointed, but her subconscious cried out for one thing. "Michael," she murmured.

"No, Honey, it's Rudy." He bent down to check her pulse. "Michael was called away to a medical conference, so you're stuck with me for now. How do you feel?"

"Who stuffed cotton in my head?" Jaime mumbled, not very coherently. Rudy smiled at her and looked toward the doorway of the recovery room. Michael stood just outside Jaime's line of vision, intently observing every detail.

"That's normal, Jaime. It'll go away soon," Rudy told her.

"'K," she answered, drifting back into unconsciousness.

Keeping one eye on the patient, Rudy joined his collegue in the doorway. "Vitals are a little shocky, but nearly normal," he told Michael. "You were outstanding in there - especially considering she's the first human patient to undergo this procedure. Amazing work!"

"Thanks," Michael acknowledged, "But I wouldn't call it amazing until we know if it worked. That'll take at least a couple of days."

"Now you're being too modest," Rudy said. "I know your goal is to have 100 percent of her memory returned, but if you even took her from 10 or 15 percent to, say, 50 percent, it would be nothing short of a miracle." Michael opened his mouth to answer, but was interrupted by an extremely groggy vouce from across the room.

"So-o-o fuzzy..." Michael started quickly toward the side of the gurney but was halted by a shake of Rudy's head and Rudy's arm blocking his way.

"I've got her for now," Rudy reminded him. Michael nodded and moved back to his doorway vantage point. He knew it was for the best, at least until he regained some objectivity.

Rudy leaned over the gurney, close to Jaime's face. "Jaime?"

"Jus' like cotton," she slurred.

"Jaime," Rudy persisted, "Do you know who I am?"

"Cotton...fuzzy...Peter Cottontail!"

Both doctors smiled, and Rudy gently brushed the hair from her eyes. Why don't you just rest now, Honey? Close your eyes and go back to sleep."

Jaime sank back into a cross between sleep and unconsciousness, softly humming to herself: "Here comes Peter Cottontail..."

His patient's progress was amazing, even by Michael's exacting standards. Six hours post-operative, she was stable enough to be moved from ICU/Recovery to her own room. Twelve hours post-op, she was sitting up in bed, fully conscious and speaking in complete, coherent sentences. At the 24 hour mark, she began pestering the nurses to help her get out of bed, but Rudy insisted she wait at least another day or two before trying that.

Michael remained out of the picture, at least as far as Jaime knew. Even though Rudy had told her Michael had been asked to present his new surgical technique to an AMA conference, Michael had never really left the hospital at all. He remained aware of every minute aspect of his patient's condition, even sleeping in his office for the first few days in case Rudy needed to consult with him on Jaime's recovery.

Two days post-op, he felt he was finally ready and able to see her, and headed into her room. "Good morning!" he said briskly, getting right down to the business of checking her vitals.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Like an old, wrung-out dishcloth. Kinda weak and floppy."

"How's the pain?"

"Rudy's got me pretty doped up, but the pain is definitely there."

"Well, you should feel a little bit stronger every day, and the pain will diminish as you start to get your strength back. It'll take time though, Jaime. That was pretty extreme surgery. Michael looked down and then glanced at Jaime with a mischievous smile on his face; he couldn't resist. "Any more cotton in your head? Or bunnies dancing across the floor?"

"Very funny, Marchetti. Been hearing about it from Rudy and the nurses for two days now - it's already old news." She grinned back at him. "How was your presentation?"

"Oh - it was ok." He met her gaze, and the emotions flowing between them jolted him like a bare electrical wire. Before he realized what he was doing, Michael leaned down and kissed her gently. He began to draw her closer for a more serious kiss, but became aware of his actions and forced himself to pull back. Instead, he reached out with one hand and caressed her cheek.

"I'll be back to check on you tonight," he told her, regaining his bedside manner. "You rest now."

"That's all I've been doing for two days..."

"Good. You need all the rest you can get, and then some. I'll see you later." Once he was safely in the hallway, Michael forced himself to think only of her medical condition as he walked down the stairs to his office.

Two days post-operative: still extremely weak (to be expected) but already restless as hell. Beginning to eat again, accordinfg to her chart. In pain, of course, but not abnormally so, considering the severe shock the surgery had been to her body. Jaime was strong-willed, and she was fighting her way back. This patient, he assured himself, would be fine.

Michael went back and checked on her again after she'd had dinner. The pain meds had put her out like a light, and he was able to check her over (normal and ok for two and a half days post-op) and she went right on sleeping.

Doctor Michael Marchetti smiled to himself as he sank down onto his office sofa for some much-needed rest of his own. She was doing even better than he had dared to hope or expect. In another day or two they could begin tests to find out how much (if any) of her memory she had regained.

Then, without warning, at three days post-operative, things went suddenly, horribly wrong.