Chapter Three

In the hallway outside the OR, Steve didn't hear when the beep of the monitor turned into a steady, piercing wail, but somehow he knew. He abruptly stopped pacing, and his face turned almost as white as Jaime's, as he was seized by an intense, numbing sense of fear.

"What is it, Pal?" Oscar probed gently, sensing his friend's distress.

"She's in trouble," he answered, his voice and expression distant. "They're...we're...losing her."

For the first time in decades, Oscar had no idea what to say. Steve and Jaime's connection was a powerful one, and Steve seemed so sure. "Jaime's in good hands," was all he could manage.

Steve nodded wordlessly, already deep in prayer.

- - -

Jaime moved directly beside her childhood counterparts, scrambling to sort things out. If she failed, would it simply mean she would die, or would it alter the future of everyone she'd ever come in contact with? As the argument began again, Jaime knew she had no time to ponder. Ready or not, she had to do something.

"Hey, guys," she said casually, "it's just a couple of shoes..." Neither child seemed to hear her. Now what? she wondered. If they didn't feel her touching them, couldn't hear her when she spoke and she was unable to physically restrain 'little Jaime', what the hell was she supposed to do? Frustrated beyond belief, she kicked the nearby sandbox with her (floating) foot. She barely glanced down, because of course nothing would happen.

Except, something did happen. The sand moved just slightly, as though a tiny wisp of a breeze had passed over it, but it was enough. Lying in the sandbox (where Steven had dropped them and lost them, even though he'd never admit it) were a pair of black Mary Jane doll shoes.

"Hey, look!" she called to the kids. Damn! They couldn't hear her. Somehow, she scooped up the shoes and carried them over to where the argument was coming to a head.

"Steven Austin, you give them back or I'll never speak to you again!"

Before Steven could open his mouth to answer, Jaime opened her hand and one of the doll shoes fell to the ground between the children. Steven saw it first and his eyes grew wide. Where had it come from...space? Shrugging, he picked it up and handed it to his little friend. "Here's one," he told her. "I'll help you look for the other one – c'mon."

Jaime sighed in silent relief as the kids ran onto the playground and away from the street. She had only moments to savor the victory before she was yanked insistently back into darkness.

- - -

Rudy stepped back from the table having done the impossible once again. He smiled, the tension draining rapidly, barely noticing when the assistant reached over to wipe the sweat beads from his brow. He took one more long look at the monitors and was satisfied. "Ok – she's stable," he said with a happy sigh. "Let's get her closed and sutured." The activity was much less frantic now, but equally as efficient. The main differences were the once-again steady beep of the monitor and the smiles that could be read above the surgical masks, in every pair of eyes on the team.

Out in the hallway, Steve could also notice a change. The icy fingers of panic and loss had released their grip on his heart, and he could breathe easily again. Oscar noticed his change in demeanor immediately, and shot him a questioning look, not wanting to intrude again into his personal thoughts.

"She's ok," Steve exulted, sinking into a chair. "They got her back."

Oscar didn't ask how he knew this with such certainty, but he had no doubt Steve was right. He had just taken the chair next to his tired friend when they both jumped back to their feet as the big double doors swung open. Rudy emerged, removing his mask, and gave the news before the two men could ask. "That is one tough lady. She'll be just fine."

"Rudy, thank you," Steve said, his voice brimming with emotion. "How soon can I see her?"

"They'll be taking her upstairs in a few minutes. If you'd like to wait in my office, someone will find you as soon as she's settled."

Once she'd been nestled into her hospital bed, Jaime began the slow, steady ascent back to reality. Steve stayed by her side, fueled by love and strong coffee, throughout the night and into the next morning, rejoicing at the gradual return of color to the face he loved like no other.

Two shifts of nurses stopped in every hour to check on Jaime and to bring Steve more coffee before leaving him to his private, adoring vigil. They checked their patient's status conscientiously, but somehow no one noticed that Jaime's left hand remained firmly closed, as though she was holding a tiny object tightly within her grasp.

- - -