"She's been out of it for damn near four days. What're the damn med-scan reading's?"
"Vital signs are all normal. Brain wave activity is a little high though, it's like she's in R.E.M sleep or something."
"What the fuck are you talking about R.E.M sleep? Her eyes are wide open."
Jacqueline al Walid – formerly Eileen Jacqueline Kaufmann – lay underneath the cool crisp sheets of one of the examination tables in the med-bay of the Ishtar, eyes wide open and apparently dead to the world.
She was completely unresponsive. Her pupils contracted as Farris shown a light into them, but she did not blink. Her knee jerked when he tested her reflexes, but she showed no pain as he prodded her foot with a small pin. She didn't eat, she didn't drink, she didn't speak, she didn't move. Tears welled in her eyes, but only to protect them from drying out.
She was, in fact, wide awake but terrified to move lest she break into a million little pieces and be sucked up into the air vents. She was sure that if she were to open her mouth and speak she would end up screaming until her lungs collapsed. No, it was much better if she lay there – perhaps forever – under the fluorescent lights and let the med-computer run its tests.
She listened to the whirring of the computers, the hum of the lights, the beeping of the heart monitor, and to the sound of Farris arguing quietly with Davis in the corner.
"Look godammit, we're already working with half a crew and I need my damn mechanic. I don't know what the fuckin' problem is," Davis swore throwing her medical printout into Farris's chest, "but you're the goddamn medic…fix her!" He stormed out of the med bay, slamming the door behind him.
"Fucking prick," Farris muttered under his breath. She heard him slamming cabinets in the med-bay's small lavatory but she didn't dare turn her head to see what he was doing. A few minutes later he rolled a chair up to her bed and pulled the curtain closed, separating her bed from Riley's, who had suffered a mild concussion and was dozing lightly on the other side of the room.
On her bed side table he placed a large bowl of hot water, a comb, and a washcloth. He sprinkled water in her hair and combed it back from her face, gently tucking it in loose bun above her head.
"Jesus, Jack," he whispered as he dipped the washcloth in the water and began wiping her face and forehead, "I don't know what to do, I'm scared to death."
She watched him wipe tears from his face as he continued to gently cleanse her skin. Immense gratitude and love welled in her but she quickly repressed it. It was much too dangerous to feel anything right now. For the sake of self-preservation her mind had blocked all thoughts of Riddick.
The events of the past four days lay festering under the surface of her memory waiting to be explored, waiting to tear her carefully constructed walls to the ground; and of course – as if she were the butt of some horrific cosmic joke – Farris chose that exact moment to lean forward and brush a soft kiss on her forehead.
"I'm sorry," he murmured against her damp skin, "I'm so sorry about him, about…Riddick."
Her breath hitched painfully at the sound of his name and her hands curled into fists.
"I don't think he would want you to do this to yourself," he pleaded.
The air was slammed from her lungs and she laboriously struggled to inhale. Pain, like nothing she had known before, expanded in her chest and she could swear she felt it move like a bitter stone up through her throat.
"He…he died so you could live…"
At those words she flinched and her eyes flew to his which widened in surprise.
"Jack?"
She opened her mouth and croaked, "D-died…"
Farris pushed his chair back and leaned over her, "Jack…Jesus Christ! You've had me scared …"
"He's dead."
He hesitated, "Kid...I-I'm so sorry…" he faltered to a stop as he looked at her.
Her eyes were wide open, mouth stretched in a silent scream. Her body involuntary began to curl in on itself; and then, as her reached for her, the most heart wrenching tortured wail, the shriek of someone whose soul is being torn from their body, issued forth from her lips and he sobbed silently as she writhed around on the bed. Her keening cry was a primal requiem; her soul seemed to wither before his very eyes.
She howled until her lungs burned; and then she leaned over the side of her bed to vomit violently into the trashcan he held out. When all stomach contents, air and energy had been ripped from her she collapsed back onto the bed and lay still as death save for the sobs that racked her body.
Farris couldn't stand the sight. The vivacious, beautiful, strong young woman he had come to know over the past year was gone. It killed him to see her like this, she was like a sister to him, and there she lay…broken and empty. He could mend her cuts and set her broken bones; but there was absolutely nothing he could do to spare her the emotional hell he knew she was going through. All he could do was offer her some rest. Walking over to the console he typed in a request for an injection of Lorazepam.
"Jack," he whispered as the computer's automated arm hooked the sedative drip to her I.V., "I'm gonna give you something now so you can sleep. You- you need to rest."
He waited until her breathing became shallow before dimming the lights and walking to the door. He stopped and looked back to her limp form on the bed, feeling an overwhelming sense of remorse for the tough but spirited young woman who had disappeared before his very eyes. He let the door swing shut behind him and headed for his room.
The day before he had packed all of Riddick's belongings – not that he had many – into his black duffle bag and left it sitting on the top bunk. He thought that Jack may want to hold on to some of his things…maybe…if Davis wouldn't find out. As he lay, restless and miserable, he wondered just what the hell Jack was going to do now. And in the dark confines of the immaculate med-bay Jack lay wide awake listening to the quiet drone of the air purifier.
She felt absolutely nothing.
(A/N: I love you guys for reviewing so quickly! )
