Rifiuto: Non Miriena

A/N: In response to Reader's review:

I think I may give my editor/agent the original- or, a copy of the original- but I would still love feedback from those who aren't friends and family; ones who can give good, constructive criticism on what I may need to change and what works well and what may not work near as well, who aren't as... insanely biased towards my writing as my family and friends are.

And this chapter and the first one are, in the original novel, one whole chapter with page breaks. However, I decided to split it into two chapters here. Surprisingly, this whole chapter were the hardest to write when I first wrote this. I found the rest of the story was much easier.

Thanks to Reader for reviewing 1.

1986, Bicêtre Hospital, Paris

His mind was racing in circles, his heart pounding out one, simple phrase: She has to be all right, she has to be all right.

Silent, he sat in the waiting area, elbows resting on his knees, hoping, praying, that she was okay. When he'd gotten the call from the hospital that there'd been an accident, that the cab his wife had been in had been pretty much obliterated, and that both she and the cabbie had been rushed to Bicêtre, all he could do was pray that he got to the hospital in time. He'd made arrangements for their neighbor to pick their daughter up and then gone over to the hospital, where he'd spent the last hour trying to find any information he could on the crash other than what he'd been told earlier, and his wife's condition. As of now, all they'd told him was that she was in surgery; that it would be anywhere from an hour to two before any word on her condition came out of the operating room.

But as he sat staring at the white tile floor and the matching white walls, the smell of antiseptic tying knots in his stomach, he let that small part of his mind wander to the very real possibility that he could lose his wife. After everything they'd been through, everything they'd somehow, miraculously managed to escape, the very real possibility that he could lose her to something as simple as a car crash-

"Monsieur McGee? I'm Doctor Baudin."

His head snapped up as the surgeon made his way towards him; green eyes widened as he took in the amount of blood on the man's scrubs, swallowing, he whispered,

"My... my wife, how... how is she?" The doctor held up a hand to silence any further questions, and after a moment, he folded his hands. He was older, with a streak of grey within his hair, and blue eyes that softened with kindness.

"She is out of surgery, and the nurses are setting her up in a room as we speak. Once she is settled, you can go in and see her." He noticed the other man's gaze flick to the blood on his scrubs and swallowed. "Due to the substantial blood loss your wife suffered in the crash, we were forced to perform several blood transfusions, and there was a point when she didn't respond, but we were able to bring her back." Dr. Baudin glanced over his shoulder. "Your wife should be settled by now, so I will take you to her room. Right this way."

He followed the other man down the hall towards the elevator; they moved up two floors in silence before finally stepping off the elevator and heading down another hallway. This hallway was quieter than the last, due to most doors being closed and the floor being pretty much deserted save for the various nurses and doctors administering to patients. Finally, they stopped in front of a door, and the doctor turned to him, silent.

"She's sedated, but she should be awake."

"She'll be all right, won't she, Doctor?" He asked, unable to keep himself from asking. He needed to know; he needed to know if she was going to bury his wife or take her home to their daughter. Baudin sighed, letting go of the door handle. A moment passed, as he weighed his options, before deciding that it was better to give him the facts instead of beating around the bush and leaving him to guess.

"Most likely, but these situations are incredibly sensitive. Now, we're going to have to keep her here for a few days to monitor how she responds to the transfusions and making sure her body doesn't reject the transfusions." When it didn't do anything to release the tension in the other man's shoulders, he sighed. "We've done all we can on our end, Monsieur McGee. Now, it's up to her if she survives."

She looked so pale, so... lifeless. A doll, broken and battered from being dropped on the floor, only to be patched up again and returned to the shelf she had fallen from. Taking a deep breath, he gently perched on the edge of the bed, reaching out to take her hand. Her fingers were small, slender, and gently, he slid their fingers together, squeezing her hand gently. She shifted, groaning softly in pain as she turned her head; slowly, her eyes opened, and once they'd focused, she gave him a tiny smile. "Don't ever do that again, love." He whispered, leaning close and gently brushing the knuckles of his free hand against her cheek. She sighed, closing her eyes and relaxing into the bed.

"I won't. I promise." He chuckled softly, giving her a small smile in return. "Where is-"

"Mrs. Degas is looking after her." She nodded.

"What... happened?"

He moved closer, leaning down and brushing a soft kiss to her hairline. "You were in a car accident; hit from behind and shoved into the car in front. But the doctors say that you're gonna be fine. You're gonna be just fine."