2016
Snatching a pair of scrubs from a nearby linen closet, Simone hurried down the hall. As she heard the lock catch, she let out a sigh of pure relief to the shadows layering her dim office. Worn jeans dropped to the floor as she changed into the much more comfortable dark blue surgical scrubs. Speaking into the air,
"Activate Belle Fortuna Mix, Volume 10"
she sank into the couch, relaxing slightly as 'Mi Mancherai' eased throughout the room. Tired of fighting, she finally let the pain overcome her.
(What are you doing Bradley?)
Pinching the bridge of her nose in a futile effort to stave off the impending headache, she let her head fall back on the arm of the couch. Recriminations raced through her head as she idly stared at the ceiling.
Finally letting the still, quiet voice speak into her raging thoughts, Simone closed her eyes, her body almost vibrating in agony.
(Face it Bradley, she's simply not coming back. No sign of memory recovery in the initial 12 hours following consciousness. That drops her odds of any memory recovery to the absolutely miniscule. You hoped, you gambled, and you fucking lost. Couldn't save Amanda, couldn't save Belle, couldn't save... You're useless. It's over.)
Annabelle's battered, bleeding face, the dark water lapping closer, "Simone! Get…"
Her bare feet padding over the thick rugs thrown haphazardly over the office floor, Simone angrily scrubbed the tears from her face and paced out her thoughts.
(Narrows it down a bit doesn't it Bradley? Choice time. Stay or go. Stay, or go. Uncle Al is catching up faster than you thought, can't be more than a year at the very most. Less if you do any more, you're close to being washed out already)
Pace, pace, pace
(You were only staying around for her, and now, there just isn't a reason is there? Lightning doesn't strike in the same place twice)
Pace, pace, pace, turn
(but you can't leave quite yet can you? Imprint breaks don't recover, and tactiles go hard. She doesn't deserve to be condemned to the dark)
Pace, pace, pace
(you can't leave, not yet)
Pace, pace, pace, turn
(Physically, her response to the maintenance 'bots has been ideal, with little loss of muscle mass and coordination. That means only Level 1 treatment, to improve her coordination further as well as work on stamina; 4 months tops.)
Stopped in the middle of the room, Simone glanced at the shadowed corner behind her desk, where a glint of another picture frame peeked out beside the smiling picture of Annabelle.
(Neurologically, my hunch is that only the long term memory has been affected. That was where the damage was concentrated…but with no other memory complications, its effect upon her recovery is reduced. She can still read and understand language, no sign of learning disabilities at this point. Most of those show themselves immediately. As for the confusion last night, Baxter warned me about emotional excitement dammit, I'm lucky it didn't affect her more than it did)
Hugging herself unconsciously, Simone rocked back and forth on her feet.
(So, barring any unexpected complications, odds are that once she gets over the shock of 10 years "lost", she'll be able to…continue…her life, and will be out of here by May. A normal life)
The smooth material of the scrubs hissed against the wall as Simone slid down to the floor, resting her arms on her knees and staring blankly at the door.
(3-4 months. Can you give her that Bradley? For the sake of your Belle, can you give this incarnation a new life? Can you be her Doctor, her Imprint, her friend, everything but her lover, lead her to a life in which you are transitory, watch her walk out the door in the end?)
Shaking her head, Simone pressing fingertips to her throbbing temples.
(I can't. I can't do this.)
"We aren't doing anything wrong".
Looking into Annabelle's eyes, Simone felt her heart break. She desperately pressed her hands to the desk to keep them from brushing, touching, pulling that beautiful face to her aching lips. So close, but so infinitely far away.
I can't love you, I can't have you, I can't stop wanting to try, I can't forget you, even when I want to. I'll hurt you, I know how this ends
"I can't do this" Simone forced out. Expecting an angry retort, a fight, something, she instead saw the most unexpected of emotions in Annabelle's eyes.
Compassion. Indescribable love. Love enough to turn and walk away, rather than cause her pain.
(Can I be as strong?...It won't be for long…I'll have to be. Get up Bradley, quit your fucking whining and get up)
Coming to a decision, Simone slowly stood up and crossed over to her desk. Her gaze fell again upon the shadowed picture frame. With infinite care, she eased it face down, glass clicking softly as it met the wood.
(4 months. There's only one way I can do it, but, I can give you that Annabelle. If for no other reason that once…once…a long time ago…you made my fairy tale come true)
Doing a quick check to make sure the door was locked; Simone dialed a number she knew, drunk, stoned or other. As she waited for him to pick up, she grimaced wryly
(and I probly have called him in each of those states, good thing he speaks Slur)
her musings interrupted as he picked up, "Hello?"
"Michael?"
"Simone?"
"Hi, it's me. I know it's early, but I was wondering if you could drop by the hospital before work?"
"Sure Simone, it's been too long! I'll even spring for coffee, you still drinking Columbian Black?"
"Impeccable memory as always Michael. See you in about an hour?"
"See you then".
Hanging up and pulling on her favorite pair of sneakers against the morning chill, Simone glanced at the bracelet on her wrist.
(pale blue. At least another couple of hours before she wakes up)
Her eyes winced as she went over the chaos in her office.
(Might as well get started on it. Still have the case prep to finish on McNeill, new entries for Annabelle, Michael will be here by then…)