A/N: Another chapter, less wait! Thank you so much for the great response the preceding chapter got! I love getting reviews, they're like a birthday present in my inbox! (Especially today!) Thank you to everyone who reviewed, and/or followed and favorited. Much appreciated. I'd like to thank Bondopoulos for being my surfboard advisor for this chapter! And of course, an even bigger thank you than usual to the bestest beta in the universe—cainc3! She worked hard on this chapter, and proposed several changes that I think made this a much stronger chapter. I hope you agree! Apparently (as always!) I own nothing. I do enjoy playing in this world though, so thanks for letting me, Rob Thomas & gang! Enjoy!
Potty-mouth alert in full-effect here…
Chapter 20—Phoenix Rising
***June 13, 2009***
Dick was getting sick of hearing Logan whining and shit about his solo surf excursion the other day. He was acting like a nagging girlfriend without the side benefits inherent in a relationship. Not that Dick tended to let his relations get to the nagging point; he was all about the short-term benefits without that long-term price.
There really was only one girl he knew that he could see casting in that role, and yeah, that just wasn't an option right now. He quickly pushed that swollen, aching thought out of his head space.
So at the ass crack of dawn Tuesday morning, before even the birds were chirping, Dick preemptively averted his eyes and knocked on the door of the love den—AKA Logan's room.
It took three loud thwacks on the door before Logan opened it. "What?" he croaked in greeting.
There was a lump barely visible in the bed that Dick presumed to be Veronica. She was probably naked under the brown, standard issue Neptune Grand duvet.
"Mornin' sunshine," Dick said in a faux-chipper voice. "I was going to catch some righteous waves this fine day, and I thought perhaps you would care to go with." The last part was said in a surfer dude inflection, he further sold it by making a 'hang ten' gesture with his right hand. He didn't need to see Ronnie to know she was rolling her eyes. That thought made him happy as he channeled his inner Johnny Utah, pretty thick, for her benefit. "Dude!"
"Gimme ten." Logan muttered before shutting the door louder than the situation called for.
"The clock starts now. Peace out!" Dick volleyed back, but it didn't really matter being that no one heard him anyway.
********/******/******/*******/*****
The drive to Dog Beach was punctuated by brief bursts of conversation, and then awkward silence. Logan was driving. Things seemed stilted between them lately, and Dick was sure it wasn't just in his imagination. The pixie spy hadn't quite been back in Neptune city limits for a week and she was already wedging herself between them. Logan, of course, was willingly letting her.
Old fuckin' habits!
He wasn't an idiot—contrary to popular belief—he knew a lot of the bad blood between them was his fault, and he would gladly take the lumps due to him for that, but that didn't negate the fact that she still had his bestie's balls in a vise grip regardless of distance. It had always been the way, and apparently it always would.
He wanted to be happy for Logan that they were getting back together, but it wasn't going to have a sparkly unicorns frolicking with rainbows happily ever-fucking-after kind of ending, he knew that. It wasn't just the fact that he was jaded, which being life enjoyed shitting on him he definitely was, it was that he'd watched this soap opera before and it always had the same ending. Logan white knighted, while Veronica bolted. They knew their roles, and they played them to a packed audience. Forget the rain check; he wanted a refund this time around for that particular show.
He had no fucking clue why he'd thought Logan would support him during this purgatory period as they waited for Mac to wake up. That was the role he'd recruited him into this play for, yet once there was a new player cast, he was all but forgotten, an extra cast aside.
Honestly, on the surface, the question could be asked why he would need support anyways. She wouldn't even label him as a friend without using the pseudo tag first.
It was an easy question, but not an easy answer.
Or maybe the problem was it was an easy answer, but he wasn't ready to ask the preceding question in the first place. There was too much going on right now to deal with how's, why's and other useless shit like that.
No, Logan was tapped out these days in the emotional support department.
His other source of strength when things got too much for him was a little too busy fighting to survive.
He was alone, utterly alone.
Logan pulled into the parking lot of the far north end of Dog Beach, their favorite surf spot. The sun was just starting its long climb from the horizon. They got out of the SUV, and shed their street legal clothes they'd put over the required surfing uniform of black wetsuits.
Dick took his cell phone out of the pocket of his khaki shorts, verified no one had tried to call him the night before, and then left it on the front passenger seat.
The guys slammed their doors and went around back to collect their boards from the cargo area.
Dick loved his new board. He'd bought it himself for his birthday back in April. It was a shiny blue Mayhem with Neptune the Sea God sporting a skull face, custom inked by Ed Hardy. It seemed apropos, a sea deity watching over him. It set him back a couple G's but it was worth every cent, to his mind. He knew he was lucky; money wasn't something he needed to lose sleep over. It obviously didn't put a hairline crack in his trust fund. There wasn't anyone else around to buy him stuff, anyway. Hell, he figured maybe he appreciated things more that way. While off the rack boards were of good quality, this was a splurge worth making.
They staked out a spot on the sand, marking their territory with their beach towels and street clothes before heading toward the surf.
The waves were coming up in the moderate range, with swells coming from the south. It was shaping up to be a good day for surfing.
Dick breathed in the tangy salt air as they walked toward the ocean. He paused to attach the leash to his left ankle, and they headed into the water.
Logan started barking like a dog, and Dick flicked him off. Leashing up was a relatively new habit that started after he lost a board last year in some particularly rough surf. Logan liked to give him shit for it, too, normally it didn't bother him, but it was particularly annoying this time.
They paddled out to the point where waves were born, and just bobbed in the water for a few minutes, getting a feel for the conditions.
Other than the feeling of being on the top of a cresting wave right before it breaks, this was Dick's second favorite part of surfing. He felt a part of something larger than himself, just a molecule in a larger atom of existence.
"In a couple of hours it will have been exactly one week since…" Logan said, letting his voice trail off.
"Yeah," Dick agreed, not needing the sentence to be completed. The thought had been his stalker all morning.
"Of all the people for this to happen to, Mac is one of the smartest yet kindest people I know. It's complete bullshit." Logan continued.
"However, it brought Ronnie back to you. So some good came out of this." The words, coated in a bitterness he couldn't deny any longer, came tumbling out.
"Ah, there it is."
"Ah, there what is?" Dick asked in a mocking tone.
"An entrance into that bitch fight you've been wanting all fucking week."
"I don't know what you mean, dude." He had a pretty good theory, however.
"I admit I'm glad to see Veronica again and you jump down my throat."
"You make me sound like some chick on the rag." Dick grumped. "That's right; I'm always waiting to start something with poor, innocent Logan. Aren't you just the innocent victim in all this?"
"A chick on the rag?" Logan echoed. "If the wetsuit fits…"
"Yeah, cause I'm the one acting like a bitch," Dick continued, muttering. "This is happening to all of us, yet you and Ronnie have walled yourselves in so completely. It's fucking disgusting to watch."
"Look, this whole situation with Mac has been making us all on edge," Logan attempted to make excuses. For whom, however, Dick wasn't sure.
"A coma, not a situation, it's a fucking coma," Dick said, his voice rising on the last part. He started paddling forward, ready to take the next wave. He was tired of all the sugarcoating people were trying to do this week, as though not saying the word coma made it nothing more innocuous than a nap, as though they weren't dangerously close to losing the glue that held them all together. Stupid cliché, aside, that was exactly what Mac was.
He was tired of a lot of things these days, watching Logan and Ronnie get back on their collision course to nowheresville, Mac suffering, the same blue walls of the ICU, not having anyone give a damn about him.
The need to get away from Logan, and his thoughts, pressed down hard.
As the wave swelled, Dick jumped up on the board, his arms out for balance, placing his right foot forward.
Logan melted into the background.
He was entering his happy place, a destination he wasn't spending a lot of time in these days.
The wave crested high. This was the moment he lived for; he was nature, he was the wave.
He brought his left foot in not even a millimeter but it was enough to throw him off course.
From behind he could hear that Logan was shouting something to him, but he was to far away to make out the words.
Distracted, Dick wobbled; he adjusted his arms a little to the left, then the right. Frantically, he corrected, re-corrected, and then over corrected.
He was trying too hard to stay balanced.
He felt himself pitch over, falling off his board, free-falling into the cold ocean. He hit his right shoulder on the board on the way down. The water bubbled up over his head, but he refused to give into the panic that could easily overtake him in this situation.
In a matter of seconds, that felt closer to minutes, he felt strong arms lifting him up. Sputtering, Dick weakly grasped his board "Thanks man," he choked out, when he was able to talk, between coughs.
"Go back to shore, before you kill your dumb ass. This is why I didn't want you to surf by yourself." Logan sounded pissed.
"I'm fine."
"Get-Your-Ass-To-Shore, NOW." He punctuated that by none-to-gently pushing Dick in that general direction. He brushed his sore shoulder.
Dick winced from the contact but didn't say anything. He let the waves do all the work, taking him back to shore.
Reaching the sand, he got up and slowly trekked back to where they'd casually flung their towels. Upon examining his board, he was relieved to see that it wasn't nearly as dinged up as he feared, just one tiny character dent.
He toweled off, studiously avoiding his shoulder, which would probably have a nice purple and black souvenir by this afternoon. It was all Logan's fault. The dude was a distraction. He may have helped save him, but it was only because he almost drowned him to begin with. No, Dick knew he wasn't being very charitable but nothing about this week left him in a charitable mood anyway.
He spotted a lone surfer—Logan—bobbing and weaving in and out of a particularly large wave. That scenario repeated itself a couple of times before he rode back to shore.
"You in one piece?" Logan inquired, as he was toweling off.
Dick didn't reply verbally, instead he shrugged his non-bruised shoulder.
"Let's get an omelet, your treat since I saved your ass."
"Saved my ass?" Dick raised a brow.
"Yes, I plucked you from your watery grave. Remember? Did you hit your head too?"
Dick just gaped at him for a second. "You're an ass."
Logan's brain caught up to his mouth. "I didn't mean that."
"What did you mean then? Our friend is in a coma right now. Did that escape your notice too? Is anything not related to Veronica even a blip on your radar?"
"You're really not going to let this go, are you?" Logan shook his head.
"I don't think so, no. I sat there quietly for almost a week, watching you two forget us about everyone else. I'm kinda over that now. I'm sick of all this drama, really the only thing we should be doing now is focusing on Mac." Dick paused, and took a deep breath. Then, upon the exhale, added, "You know what? On second thought I am going to let this go. I'm going to let it all go. Tell Veronica she won. I'm done man." Having said his piece, Dick turned around and walked away, disgusted with the whole affair.
He grabbed his bundle of clothes and headed towards the public restrooms off the parking area. He took a quick shower, just to shed the layer of sand caked on.
Logan had entered the restroom sometime during Dick's shower, he could tell from the dude's off key rendition of "Luck Be a Lady" coming from the stall to his left. That did not help his mood. He didn't need to guess what lady he considered the source of luck these days. Dick shut off the water, toweled off and got dressed all before Logan finished his song. On his way out the door, he gave him the one-finger salute, not that the guy could see it, but it still felt satisfying.
A quick glance at the general locale of where they'd stashed their stuff proved that Logan had stowed away his board. On a hunch, Dick tried the Xterra and discovered it was unlocked. He balled up his damp wetsuit and towel, stashing them in the back on top of his board.
Dick walked across the street to the Neptune Café. It was post-surfing tradition; it seemed strange going there without Logan. His stomach was rumbling though, so he needed to heed that call. Solo dining was hardly something new and different for him.
Michelle, their usual—and favorite—waitress, automatically brought him coffee and creamer without him having to ask. Logan, however, was the cream user. She looked around as he verified he wanted his usual Denver omelet (yes!).
"Just me, myself and I today," Dick answered the unspoken question.
"Okay, love," she said, and then headed off to put in the order.
From the booth by the window, Dick had a view of the ocean beyond, with only the occasional obstruction from cars going by. There wasn't much traffic that early in the morning. He took a sip of coffee and watched a familiar looking, lanky guy with brown hair enter the café.
Dick took a deep breath and wearily watched Logan purposefully stride towards him.
"This is a table for one."
"Yet, still, there's plenty of seating," Logan replied back, taking the bench across from him. "What's good?" he smirked.
Michelle must have seen come, because she brought him a coffee too, and promised to add his usual Southwest Chorizo omelet to the order.
"What are you doing here?"
"I worked up quite the appetite surfing, and saving your ass."
"And, apparently, you worked up quite an appetite causing me to almost drown in the first place."
Logan just cocked his head.
"You're the reason I fell off my board to begin with," Dick tried again, speaking slower this time.
"No, you fell off the board because you were distracted." Logan spoke slowly himself.
"Did you stop and think you might have had a hand in that?"
"No," Logan said, and then took a sip of his coffee with two creamers. After he swallowed, he pursed his lips and said, "well, maybe a finger."
Dick looked confused.
"I didn't have a hand in your wipeout, but maybe I had a finger in it." Logan clarified.
"Just one?" Dick was skeptical.
"Maybe two, but that's it." Logan hedged.
"Which two?"
"Middle and ring."
That was probably the best he was going to get from Logan.
They sat there drinking coffee for a couple of minutes, letting the silence linger. It was less heavily charged this time.
"There's nothing redeeming about Tuesday. It's the most useless day of the week," Logan finally said, out of the blue. He was evidently tired of the quiet, and didn't much care what they talked about as long as they were saying something.
"I thought that Mondays had that dubious distinction pretty well tied up."
"Mondays suck, it's true, but they at least have a purpose."
"What's that?"
"To remind you how much better you had it the day before."
"It's summer, we're out of school, what the hell does it matter what day of the week it is? All we're doing these days is staring at those same four blue walls of the ICU waiting area," Dick said.
"I just was commenting Tuesday is the most useless day of the week. That's it. This week hasn't really been a typical week anyway. It's more of a Groundhog Day of endless repetition."
"Lather…Rinse…Repeat," Dick agreed. "Kind of like you and Nancy Drew. Except if we're going to dust off that tired story, it's more like lather, rinse, piss each other off, break up, get back together, piss each other off even more, break up once again, then quit talking for two years. Rinse, repeat, of course. "
"Oh, we're back to this, huh?"
"I'm not actually sure we've ever really stopped."
"Also, I take offense to your use of the word tired, by the way." Logan added.
"Okay, how 'bout, clichéd?" Dick proposed.
"We hit the pause on this subject while you were busy drowning," Logan reminded him. He grabbed another creamer from the saucer in the center of the table. Evidently the two creamers in there already didn't make it diluted enough. Dick watched as he pulled back the lid and poured the contents in his coffee before taking a sip. "Remind me again why I saved you?"
"No, I believe we ended this subject on the beach when I conceded and told you Veronica won, but since you decided to follow me, you obviously want to keep talking about this." Dick shrugged, "To answer your question, you saved me because I'm your voice of fucking reason. Anyway, now we're on solid land, and we've got some time before the omelets come. No time like the present to hash this out."
"No time like the present? What greeting card did you steal that from?"
"A wise old philosopher once said it, Hallmarkus, I believe."
"Alright, then, spit it out."
Dick hesitated a moment or two before launching into his litany of complaints about the reunion. Absently, he rubbed his sore shoulder, wincing slightly at the contact. He shook off Logan's questioning look.
"As I tried to explain earlier, you've been living in your own little cave since Ronnie's been back, and I get that she's got this fucking pull on you, it's yet another chapter of your epic love, but it's not just the two of you bleeding over Mac. Wallace needs Veronica now, and you two act like you're the only two fucking people left in the world." He took a deep breath, before continuing, talking right through Logan's automatic protest. "You're there for her, great, but we're all dealing with this messed up situation. What happened to Team Mac? It feels like you seceded from the union and held your own dictatorship, and Wallace and I can't invade your fucking borders."
"Are you declaring war?" Logan said, after a brief silence. He raised one eyebrow. "Wallace?" His tone was bleeding skepticism. "This is only about Wallace and his feelings? Why do I find the idea of you being his chosen mouthpiece suspect?"
Their waitress came by and topped off their coffees.
Logan smiled his appreciation at Michelle before taking a sip of coffee and waving an arm in invitation for Dick to take the verbal stage again.
"Yes, Wallace, this is all about my friend Wallace," Dick affirmed.
"Ah yes, the close friendship you two built in three days."
"He's a good dude. Mac likes him, that's enough of an endorsement for me."
Dick saw Logan's face visibly soften at Mac's name, he was pretty sure that was his own damn Pavlovian response as well. If Mac were here she'd hit him—hard—for using her as a reason for their little "tiff." She had more peace-keeper tendencies than he did, which always seemed ironic considering she had a warrior spirit deep within. But it was that, right there, that was keeping her tethered to life; he was sure of it, and very grateful.
"I'm sorry," Logan said at long last. He sighed, and fiddled with the handle of his coffee cup. "I'm not meaning to cut you and your new BFF out of things, it's just…" His voice trailed off, running his other hand through his short brown hair.
"It's just you're not good at the balance," Dick supplied helpfully.
"It's just she's broken, man, and that makes me broken. Or more broken, maybe," Logan explained, speaking over Dick. The last bit was said as more of an afterthought.
"You two aren't…" Dick never got to finish adding his name to the list of people Mac's injury had broken as Michelle chose that moment to bring their food. He thanked her before cutting into his Denver Omelet.
The melted cheddar filled his mouth. As he chewed, he looked out the window. Traffic was getting heavier. Logan seemed to be enjoying his omelet as well, judging by the quietness that stole over them. For what was probably only three or four minutes, but felt much longer, the only sounds that came from their table was chewing their food and sipping their coffee. Eating felt like the better accomplishment at that point, though his 'sharing of feelings' earlier did make him feel a bit better. Maybe Dr. Phil was on to something after all.
Evidently tiring of the silence, Logan cleared his throat like he had this grand declaration to make, but then he ended up echoing Veronica's line of questioning from the other day about his role in Mac's life.
"So, is this the part where you ask me what my intentions are?" Dick smirked.
"Yes, as I'm cleaning my rifle."
"Or borrow your woman's taser."
"Or that," Logan agreed.
"No intentions. I just really like her…as a friend," Dick said.
Logan clearly didn't believe a word; he went the non-verbal route though, flashing him a look full of doubt.
"No, really, we're just the p-word," Dick added. "Platonic."
"I think you might have got Veronica off the case, but you can't fool me."
"Case?"
"Yes, the case of why does Dick "surfer dude" Cassablancas give a crap about the health of Cindy 'Mac' Mackenzie."
"Do I have my own file folder?"
"No, like I said, as far as Veronica is concerned there's not a case now. You finally saw what an awesome person she is, instead of…Well, yeah." Logan shut down that thread at a whiplash pace. "End of the story for her, it's cut and dried. Plus, her energy is fractured now."
"So I take it, however, you're not convinced?"
"Nope!" Logan popped the 'p.'
"I did finally see how cool she is. I've known that for awhile now, dude."
"I know that, you don't have to recap our history as the three musketeers and shit."
"All for one, dude, and one for all. Cowabunga!" Dick backed that up by making a peace sign.
"You're mixing genres there."
"Eh. Whatever!"
"So out with it, Dick. Confession, as they say, is good for the soul."
"If you already know my deep, dark secret why should I bother using my words?"
"You know what, don't. I don't care." Logan was exasperated. "Don't use your words." He used air quotes.
"It doesn't really matter that I'm in love with her, there's nowhere for us to go. We work as friends, pseudo-friends, whatever label you want to slap on it, but as for a relationship, well I have nothing there to offer her. Right now though, it does not fucking matter. She needs all the friends she can get now."
Logan nodded solemnly, but bit back the 'I knew it' he was dying to say.
"So, when did you figure it out?" Dick asked, curiously. He took a sip of his now tepid coffee.
They'd actually had a similar conversation a few days before after Logan teased him about his off-key rendition of "Girlfriend in a Coma" by The Smiths. He'd denied all charges of Mac being anything but a good friend, obviously though his protests weren't convincing enough.
"Before you did, I'm sure." It was said with the confidence of a best friend.
Dick just shrugged, but deep down figured that could be the case. "So, you're not going to tell your temperamental other half that I'm in love with her bestie?"
"That's between you and Mac. Not my business to tell. I'm sure she'll figure it out on her own, but right now getting Mac to wake up is the only thing that matters to her."
"And you."
"I come second," Logan said, with just a little tinge of sadness.
"No, you don't. I may be pissed at the fact that we're all collateral damage in your reuniting soap opera drama shit, but yeah, you are never second place to her. Of course you might want to buy her a leash, or one of those invisible fence shock collars, so she won't freak herself out and run again, but nope, you are definitely not 2nd place, or to quote Mac, 1st loser."
The waitress dropped off the check and Dick dug into his wallet, handing over his black Am-Ex card.
Logan tipped ten dollars and they headed back to the truck.
As Dick sat down on the passenger seat and buckled up, he felt his phone pressing into his butt. Rummaging around, he retrieved it and took a brief glance at the screen.
Two missed calls and five texts. That didn't seem like a good sign.
"Did your phone ring? I didn't hear it go off."
"I left it in the suite, I figured you'd have yours glued to your wet suit or something," Logan replied. He started the truck, and took a quick side glance at Dick before checking the mirror and backing out of the space. "Why?"
"I have five texts."
"Shit. That doesn't sound good."
"Nope," he agreed. Scrolling through them he saw they were all from Logan's phone. "I think someone hijacked your phone." He opened up the message envelopes and scrolled through as Logan headed out of the parking lot towards home.
"My phone was on the bedside table; Veronica probably used it because she knew your number would be programmed in it."
"Aw, under the name snook'ems?"
"No. Honey boo-boo," Logan corrected.
"You're Logie." Dick confessed as he read each text.
Logie: Wallace called. We need to get a move on. Something is happening at the hospital, and of course Logan left his frakking phone here.
Logie: Where are you guys?
Logie: Don't you two idiots ever check your messages?
Logie: Thing two, pull your head out of your ass, and wrangle up Thing One and GET HOME NOW!
Logie: Wallace still doesn't know what's up, and I'm freaking out here. You better be on your way home. NOW!
As each missive got more and more impatient, Dick's sense of dread climbed as well. He shifted in his seat, unable to get comfortable. He started drumming his fingers' on the door of the SUV. Evidently that tattoo bothered Logan based on the side-eyed looks and put out sighs he was sending out.
"Give her a call, let her know we're coming," Logan said at last. He was going well past the speed limit as he cut the distance between their hotel and the beach.
"Ronnie! Is Mac…is she…Mac's okay, right?" Dick stuttered out as soon as she picked up on the first half of a ring. He'd been afraid to call, figuring maybe he could put off bad news.
He let her speak, not daring to interrupt other than to make an occasional agreement grunt. Nervousness was contagious, and it was Logan's turn to be impatient. Dick thought at one point the cell was going to be ripped from his hands.
With just a grumbled thanks Dick disconnected just as they pulled into the garage.
"Wallace just called her within seconds of sending the last text, it sounds like good news. Enough of the swelling in her brain has subsided for them to start easing up on the drug cocktail."
"English." Logan barked with seething impatience.
"They're going to try to bring her out of her long nap," Dick translated, as they got out of the car and made their way through the dark, dank parking garage. He recapped the intel he'd been able to glean from Veronica as Logan punched the button for their floor on the elevator. They made the rest of the trip up to their suite in silence. Dick couldn't get the images of the ball hitting Mac out of his memory bank. It was footage he wished he could just delete.
The door to their suite was already opened when they spilled out onto the top floor of the hotel.
"Turn back around Thing One and Thing Two." Veronica commanded from the doorway. She shut the door with a resounding thud and in a few quick strides was beside them waiting for the elevator once again. Since it had just let them off, it was a quick process.
"You could have taken my truck," Dick said as they rode back down to the lobby.
"I make it a point to not darken your doorstep. Besides, I'd have no idea where to look for your keys in that wasteland."
"I thought you'd never been in my room."
"I haven't, I don't want to pick up any diseases."
"How long did Wallace say it would take for Mac to wake up?" Logan interrupted the sparring between two of his favorite people.
"It varies blah blah blah and a yada yada," Veronica said. "That's a direct quote, I do believe."
"Will she remember anything?"
"Guys, how the hell would I know?"
"I thought the doctors might have said something."
"Maybe to Mr. and Mrs. Mackenzie, but Wallace is getting everything third run. Ryan, I gather, isn't the best source of medical knowledge." Veronica explained. "Why the hell did it take you guys so long to call me back? We could have been there by now. You two idiots are the frakking two stooges, I swear."
"It's three, Ronnie."
"I know that, jackass."
"Veronica, stop it," Logan refereed. "Just call a ceasefire you guys, we'll get there soon. We all are on the same side here." He looked sideways at Dick as he said that.
They once again piled into Logan's yellow Xterra, Dick sitting in the back that time. He didn't pay any heed to the murmured conversation up front. Logie was probably getting verbally tased for defending him. Whatever. Instead, his mind was several miles away in room 305 of the ICU waiting for his body to physically catch up.
Pushing the speed limits once again, Logan made the fifteen minute trip in ten.
Sending the happy couple up ahead, Dick stopped at the gift shop off the gleaming lobby. He was in there less than two minutes when a big stuffed bear with white gauze wrapped around its head caught his eye. It was dressed in a white tee shirt saying 'I'm Beary Sorry You're Sick. Get Well Soon!'
He bought that and a red sharpie marker, and then headed back to his new home, the blue walls of the 3rd floor ICU waiting area. Purgatory.
Veronica was cutting off Logan's circulation and Wallace was animatedly talking to Ryan when he walked in. A glance over to the far side of the rectangular room revealed the Macs in deep conference with who he assumed was her team of doctors, and Lauren Sinclair. He did a double take before remembering she was a volunteer there for some non-profit or something. He still didn't have the full scoop and wasn't sure there was much scoop there anyway.
Dick snapped a few more pics with his cell to show Mac when she woke up. It started to hit him that it was a matter of when now, and not an if.
Putting the phone away, Dick sat down in the chair that carried his butt indentation and wrote a quick note to Mac on the bear's shirt.
"Incoming!" He shouted when he was done, throwing Wallace the bear.
The get well present was still making the rounds when Mrs. Mac broke away from the huddle and came over to "Cindy's" friends. With a smile on her face, she explained that while it was a long process, they were going to ease up on the barbiturates. She reiterated what Veronica had said about there being no firm timeline, taking anywhere from hours to up to a day. After that task was done, she briefly hugged everyone and made her way back to her daughter's bed.
*****Four hours later, ICU waiting room*****
Dick watched the wall clock hit one o'clock, and there was still no response in Mac.
Mr. and Mrs. Mac took turns giving hourly updates on her progress, which sadly was nothing more than 'no change.'
"Can I go see her, please?" Dick asked after the second update. He didn't succeed in keeping his pleading tone at bay.
"Me, too," Veronica added from her perch across the room.
Copycat.
Mr. Mac, a soft touch, quickly agreed and escorted them both into the bowels of the ICU.
Veronica got the first visit, keeping it short and sweet. Dick watched from the window, saying a silent Prayer, to a God he wasn't always sure he actually believed in, that the girl in there on that bed would return to them the same wicked smart, feisty but kind girl they all loved. He tightened his grip on the bear.
"Tag, you're it," Veronica said softly in his ear. She lightly brushed his bruised shoulder, but he contained his grimace.
"Thanks." He gave her a brief side hug, and then dropped his arm quickly.
The machines were still beeping, and the IV bag dripping. She didn't look different but he studied her carefully for any sign of movement, any sign that her journey back was underway.
"Come back to me Sleeping Beauty. There's a whole lobby full of fans that need you. Fight through the pain. You can do it. You survived a lot in your short time here; you can win this battle too. I believe in you." Dick lightly brushed her non-IV pierced hand, and then placed another soft kiss on her cheek.
He placed the bear on the bedside table to watch over her, before heading back to the waiting room.
Dick felt lighter than he had in the entire seven days of their vigil. Mac was finally coming home.
TBC…
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