February 11th, 2017
"Okay you're doing great, now take that right foot and step forward…yea just like that. Good, good, you're doing great."
I watched Becca from the doorway as she struggled through her physical therapy, her face white from pain, two spots of red high on her cheeks from exertion. Her face wrinkled with agony as she took hesitating steps forward, sweat beading down her brow.
She had been fighting and struggling through her recovery since she had woken up three weeks earlier, each moment an effort that left her both tired and marginally stronger each day. In the first few hours of her wakening the doctors had realized that she had a mild form of aphasia; when she had seemed able to recognize items or people but had been unable to name them they had realized the problem immediately.
With therapy she seemed to be growing stronger; her ability to walk steadily was improving and her sense of humor was returning. She remembered who Miles and I were, though she struggled to remember the nature of our relationship—according to her there were still patchy areas in her memory.
The doctors said it was possible these holes would resolve themselves, or wouldn't. They weren't experts in the brain, and they could only offer the barest of hopes.
"Do I get a shot of whiskey for going around the track three times today Carlos?" Becca asked wryly, her voice ragged with exertion, but a glint of mischief gleamed in her eyes as she smirked faintly at the physical therapist at her side.
"If you go a fourth time around and gimme a kiss when you're done, you got it princessa," Carlos replied, his green eyes twinkling with good humor.
Becca laughed and shook her head, her shoulders tight as she began moving around the track a fourth time. "I don't think your novio would like it if I kissed you, eh cabron?" she teased breathlessly.
I smirked as their teasing continued, Carlos easily distracting her from the pain of another round on the track. When she finished he stepped forward and guided her into a wheelchair, glancing over at me so quick I would have missed it if I hadn't been looking for it.
It was our signal and had been worked out over the past weeks as Becca grew used to Miles and I showing up at her room to take her to and from the physical therapy sessions. Slowly I walked over, watching as Becca reclined against frame of the chair, her eyes framed by dark circles of exhaustion and lines of pain.
Her recovery wasn't easy or painless and every step came with shocks; she had recalled quite violently the moment her friend Joe had died just a week ago, and two days ago she had looked up at me and asked me who Shelley was.
We spent hours talking, sometimes just her and I, other times her, Miles and I, trying to explain the last years; but it always seemed like something in her was lost; as though some essential piece that made her my Becca was gone, or still missing.
I didn't know how to find that piece or how to help her, other than to keep showing up. She seemed as frustrated as Miles and I were—she could tell that her memories weren't complete and she told me she knew that we had something special, but she didn't connect with it yet.
It frustrated me to no end to know that it wasn't like some switch we could flip, to turn her back into the person she had been. It would be so much easier if that was how it was, but that apparently wasn't how the brain worked.
I smiled amiably at her and rested my hands on the handles of the wheelchair, bending down slightly to speak to her, "Ready for dinner?" I asked softly, knowing she was usually hungry after her physio.
She sighed heavily and nodded, leaning her head against my left hand, her eyes drifting shut. My eyes widened momentarily in surprise before I cleared my throat and smiled at Carlos and nodded appreciatively at him and began wheeling her down the hall.
The basement of Independence Hall had been converted into a physical therapy area for Becca and ramps had been laid down as soon as we had realized the area wasn't handicap accessible and would need to be since she couldn't walk.
Slowly we moved down the hallways, Becca's head resting against my hand, her eyes still shut. Her temple was damp where it touched against the skin of my hand and I worried she had overexerted herself.
"Are you feeling alright?" I murmured, peering down at her as we rose to the second floor where her room was.
She had been moved back to her original rooms—a move I had wanted to object, but since she couldn't remember living with me, loving me, it was too awkward to try and force the subject of her living with me as she recovered.
"Just tired…I…"she paused and sighed heavily and I glanced down at her, worry shooting through me.
"You what?" I prompted.
"I didn't sleep well last night," she confided.
I pushed the wheelchair into her room and helped her stand, guiding her onto the bed and back against the pile of pillows, frowning at her, "Why not?" I demanded as gently as possible.
She shrugged and winced, her body was obviously sore from physio, but her ribs were still tender and after physio she needed a hot bath to ease away the aches. "I had nightmares," she murmured, leaning back against the pillows, her eyes drifting shut.
I waved a hand to the servant waiting outside, directing him to go and get hot water for a bath and a hot meal for both of us. I would eat in my office, but Becca would need food, and soon.
Turning back to glance at her I frowned, my brows furrowing at the sight of her pale face. "What did you dream about?" I prompted.
She shook her head, "I'm not…" she paused and opened her eyes, her gaze meeting mine, and I saw hesitation there. "I think it was someone you knew…" she hesitated again and I realized who she was talking about.
"Shelley," I murmured.
She nodded, relief spreading across her face as I confirmed her memory. The sound of Shelley's name didn't pain me as much as it used to, and that surprised me. I guess the more present fear of losing Becca had taken the place of the pain of losing Shelley and our baby.
I would never fully recover the loss of them, but now that I had Becca, I had someone else to worry about.
"I dreamt about her being pregnant. She asked me to help her give birth and instead…" she paused and looked up at me, her eyes shady with confusion. "I stabbed her," she whispered.
Sighing, I shook my head, "You didn't do that. You tried to save her and my daughter. It was too late for them both and they died. You brought my daughter to me so I could see her and name her," I confided, my throat growing thick with emotion at the memory.
Her dark eyes flooded with tears and she wiped at them hastily, "I-but…why do you want me around? If I remind you of that?" she asked softly.
I shook my head and swallowed hard, "Becca, no…" I struggled around the lump in my throat for a moment and then continued, "You remind me that I survived that, and I only did that with your help. I would have killed myself without you," I told her softly.
Her eyes widened and I heard her breath stutter at the weight of my confession. We stared at each other for a long moment, the depth of the unspoken thoughts between us growing.
"You…you call me…"her brow furrowed as she tried to recall what pet name it was I used for her and my heart leapt at the thought that she was making these neural connections and placing an emotional connection to them.
I held my breath as she struggled, not wanting to supply her with the answer unless I had to.
She bit her lip and closed her eyes, searching for the word.
"Baby"
My heart stuttered and I gripped the arms of the chair I was sitting in, trying to keep myself from leaping up and sweeping her into my arms. Instead I nodded, my eyes blurring for a moment with a rush of emotion, "That's right," I whispered, smiling lovingly at her.
She smiled softly, hesitantly, and brushed a strand of hair back behind her ear.
The door abruptly burst open, servants arriving with hot water for her bath and a tray full of food. Leaning back in my chair I watched as they filled the tub and Becca ate rapidly, decorum long set aside between us after her first physio session ended in tears and vomiting from the pain.
As she finished eating I stood and went to her side, lifting the tray from her lap, smiling faintly, remembering the last time we had shared a meal together in bed. Her gaze lifted to mine and to my surprise her cheeks flushed before she glanced away.
Did she remember?
Setting the tray on the nearby dresser I turned back and found her gaze resting on me, an assessing look in her eyes. Smirking at her gently I leaned against the wall by the bed, forearm propped against the wall and my other hand tucked into my waistband, watching her as I stared down into her eyes.
"You're a lot easier to boss around like this," I murmured.
"Don't get used to it," she instantly snapped back, her eyes flashing with sharp laughter.
Chuckling softly I reached out and cupped her chin, rubbing my thumb along her jaw gently. Her eyes widened at I sighed, pulling away slowly.
"Wouldn't dream of it. You're too stubborn to let me boss you around," I countered softly, winking at her.
She laughed as the door behind me opened and a moment later I heard the familiar footsteps of Natasha entering the room.
"Evening Becca, you ready for your bath?" she asked politely.
Becca nodded and a moment later Natasha appeared at my side, gently nudging me out of the way so she could help Becca undress and bathe. It was a task I would have gladly handled, but with Becca's memories so in flux, I wouldn't risk upsetting her.
Stepping away I carefully backed away and smiled at Becca as I shut the door, "See you later baby," I murmured.
Her eyes darted up to mine and as I closed the door I saw her lips curl into a soft smile.
February 12th, 2017
Tugging the ball cap lower over my eyes, I pushed the sunglasses up my nose and walked slowly down the street, peering at the wares offered by the various shop fronts, frustration making my jaw clench.
Valentine's Day was only two days away, and I didn't have anything for Becca yet. I wasn't even sure what to get her at this point…her memories were still jumbled and her ability to walk on her own was slowly improving, but she still seemed interested in some of her old pursuits—reading, riding Beda, and practicing her Russian.
Turning down a side street I paused at the sight of a bookstore, a slow smile curling up my lips. Pushing open the door I stepped inside and nodded stiffly to the proprietor, walking quietly through the stacks, examining the spines of the books.
Turning the corner I found myself facing the cashier and hesitated, not wanting to reveal myself, but knowing I needed assistance with what I wanted. Sighing, I stepped forward and cleared my throat, smiling tightly when the man at the counter glanced up at me, his brow furrowing behind his wire framed glasses.
"What can I help you with sir?" he murmured.
"Do you have any books in Russian?" I asked, "Novels I mean," I explained.
He thought for a moment and then nodded, stepping out from behind the counter, waving a hand for me to follow him. We walked towards the back of the shop, through a caged metal door and into a room where the books lined the walls.
The proprietor turned to the back wall and pointed, "These are all Russian," he waved a hand to the other walls, "These are Spanish, Dutch, Italian and French," he explained.
I nodded and stepped forward, searching through the spines until I found what I was looking for. Lifting the books from the shelf I turned to the man and nodded, "I'll take these," I murmured. He nodded and carried them to the register, writing up totals before ringing it up.
I quickly handed over the pieces of gold and took the books the man had wrapped in brown paper, tucking them under my arm. Walking slowly down the streets I watched as the citizens of our Republic went about their lives, haggling for food, laughing and talking happily.
What they needed, what we all needed, was for Becca to continue to get better. The Republic needed her just as much as I did, probably more.
I paused and turned back, heading for another shop I had passed, heading inside for one last gift.
February 14th, 2017
Nervously I ran a hand through my hair, glancing down at the table where dinner was laid out and candles were lit, casting a warm glow on the room. I had asked Becca that morning if she would have dinner with me tonight, and a bright smile had spread across her face filled with warmth and eagerness.
Now as I waited for her to appear in the small dining room adjacent to my suite of rooms, my stomach twisted anxiously, wondering if she was coming just to humor me, if she was just doing it to be kind or if perhaps she was starting to remember our life together.
The door to the dining room creaked open and I turned expectantly, my stomach flopping restlessly.
The soft candlelight lit her cheeks with a gentle golden glow, burnishing them lightly and chasing away the dark circles that had been resting under her eyes for the past weeks. A flush rose in her cheeks as I continued to study her, her eyes darting away as she approached.
I quickly stepped forward and pulled out her chair, my gaze flitting over the dark navy dress she was wearing. She so rarely dressed up it was a shock to see her in something so…elegant. The material was silky looking and clung to her curves, the neckline dipping low to reveal the smattering of freckles that dotted her breasts, the ones that I had always found so distracting.
She had somehow curled her hair into soft waves, and as I leaned down to push her chair in I could smell some kind of perfume that made me want to kiss the tender skin of her neck. Instead, I stepped away and smiled nervously at her as I reached for the bottle of wine.
"Would you like a glass?" I asked, trying to keep my voice from wavering.
She nodded and pushed her hair back over her shoulder, "Please," she murmured.
Quickly I poured us both glasses and sat, smiling faintly at her. I don't know why I felt so fucking nervous. I had known this woman for close to five years now, so why did it feel like we were on a first date?
Clearing my throat nervously I smiled at Becca, "How did your therapy go today?" I asked politely, silently cursing myself for the inane question.
Her smile faltered for a moment and then brightened, "It was fine. Normal. I'm uh, doing better. I rode…" her smile dulled as she struggled with her words. She searched my face, her brow furrowing, "my horse…"she murmured.
"Beda," I supplied, smiling wryly, "It means trouble in Russian," I told her with a soft laugh.
She nodded and a look of recognition passed her face, "Because we're both troublesome," she murmured, her eyes lighting with amusement.
"The worst kind," I teased, sipping on my wine, flirting with her over the rim of my glass.
Her laugh was low and velvety as she lifted the cover to her plate, inhaling the scent of her food. We talked softly as we ate, the conversation halting at points as Becca searched for words, her brow furrowing in frustration.
"We…you…I," she trailed off, looking frustrated.
I stared at her, watching the light play off the honey highlights in her hair and the darker, almost midnight coloring and sighed, reaching out to lay my hand on top of hers. "We've been together, you, me, and Miles, for almost five years," I explained.
"You've been our Policy Advisor, Chief of Staff, Ambassador…everything, for nearly that long. You've kept this Republic going and made it what it is when we didn't even realize what it needed."
"I've loved you for longer than I realized," I murmured, squeezing her hand.
I watched as her eyes widened at my words, her pulse thrumming in her throat. I bit my tongue, waiting for her to say something, knowing that I couldn't say anything else for fear of scaring her.
Becca swallowed hard and her hand twisted in mine to wrap her fingers around mine, "Ty moya lyubov'" she whispered.
I laughed and shook my head, "I don't speak Russian baby," I reminded her.
She grinned, "You should look it up," she murmured.
"Maybe you can start teaching me," I replied softly, smiling warmly at her. Her fingers tightened around mine and my heart thumped harder against my ribs.
"I'd like that," she whispered, smiling fondly at my.
I leaned down at lifted the small pile of presents I had bought for her from beside my feet and laid them next to our conjoined hands, flushing softly at the look of pleasure on her face.
"I got these for you, I-I hope you like them," I murmured. "Happy Valentines Day."
She blushed and retracted her hand from mine, slowly unwrapping the books, a look of excited apprehension on her face. When the paper slid away a low pleased sigh escaped her.
"You got me Crime and Punishment and The Brothers Karamazov…"she paused and ran a finger over the spines, "and they're first editions," she breathed. Her eyes flitted up to mine and I saw joy shining there, something I hadn't seen in weeks.
"Thank you," she whispered.
I nodded and pointed to the last package, smaller and containing something far more precious. "That one…hold on to it. Don't open it until you feel like you remember you and me, until you feel you know us," I murmured.
She stared at me for a long moment and then nodded, slipping the small package inside the cover of Crime and Punishment without a word. Her fingers traced over the cover of the book for a moment before she stood, gathering the books in her arms, smiling at me unsteadily.
I quickly rose, my heart thumping.
"Walk me to my room?" she asked softly.
I nodded and gently laid a hand on her lower back, my palm burning where it met the fabric of her dress. She brushed absently at her hair, releasing more of whatever scent she had sprayed on and I bit my cheek to keep from groaning, wanting to bury my face in her hair and wrap my hands around her waist.
Christ
All too soon we were at her door and she turned to face me, her cheeks flushed pink and her eyes sparkling as she peered up at me. I leaned against the doorframe, my body just inches from hers, my hand resting gently on her waist, having softly slipped from her back.
"Thank you for dinner," Becca murmured, smiling softly at me. "A-and for the presents," she stuttered, brushing awkwardly at her cheek, swiping her hair back from her face.
"You're welcome. I'm glad you liked them," I replied softly, squeezing her hip. She flushed and glanced away and I could see her pulse thrumming in her throat.
A moment later her hands were winding around my neck and her lips were pressing against mine, warm and tasting of bittersweet wine, cherries and oak. I sighed in surprise and wrapped my hands around her waist, the familiarity of this moment flooding through me.
Her fingers slid through my hair and tugged on it gently, eliciting a soft groan from me. I pulled her more firmly against me and inhaled deeply, feeling her scent invade my senses. A breath later she pulled away and slid back down onto the flats of her feet, her palms resting against my chest.
"Happy….Valentine's Day," she whispered disjointedly before turning and shutting her door behind her.
I turned away, rubbing a hand over my mouth absently, wondering why Becca had kissed me and if it had meant as much to her as it did to me. As I turned back into my room I paused, wondering what the phrase she had murmured in Russian had meant.
Quickly I went to the small stack of books I had bought from the bookstore and flipped through the Russian/English dictionary I had purchased. Becca sometimes muttered little phrases in Russian when she was angry or wanted to make a snarky remark and I wanted to know what she was saying.
Slowly I flipped through the pages, searching out the words she had used.
"Ty moya lyubov'"…You're my love