Disclaimers: I don't own 'The Rookies' and I never will.

Summary: Jill begins speaking, but the answers to her questions leave her more confused and angry than ever. Convinced that Cleve will come looking for her, she has no trust of Mike, who continues trying to work his way back into her heart.

The doctors begin making plans for her continued recovery after the hospital.

Chapter 5: Trying to Win Back Jill's Heart

Dr. Conti was sitting at a staff meeting with both of Jill's therapists. The topic of the meeting was measuring Jill's progress. "Is she ready to be moved to Rancho Mirage?" He asked.

"No," Paul answered. "Her right side is still extremely weak. I'm also concerned about her right hand. She's been wearing a brace to keep her fingers from atrophying, but the brace isn't working. She might need surgery."

"How's her speech coming along, Lydia?"

"Fairly well, actually. She's at the point where she's making the sounds, so actual words shouldn't be far behind."

"Okay. What point is Jill in regarding her physical therapy? Paul, have you gotten her on her feet?"

"Yes, but only for about a minute at a time. But, that's up from about 20 seconds a week ago, so she's making progress, just not as much as I'd like to see."

"I guess we'll meet again at this time next week and see how things have progressed," Dr. Conti said as he got to his feet, indicating that the meeting was over.

***MJMJMJ***

In her room, Jill had been sitting apprehensively since leaving her afternoon speech therapy session. She kept wondering where Cleve was. It wasn't like him to let her out of his sight. Where he was at was what she always wondered about these days. She knew that sooner or later he was going to show up and drag her back to that house. She didn't want to go back, but she had to ask herself if staying with Cleve was worse than being back on the farm in Alabama with her grandfather.

She had a ton of questions for Mike when he came to visit that afternoon. She'd stared at the pictures he'd brought her for hours every day. She didn't understand how she could be married to him when she felt no connection. She belonged with Cleve and she knew that he was going to come back. And when he did, he'd mop up the floor with Mike. The very thought terrified her.

She was practicing her sounds when Mike arrived shortly after five o'clock. She figured that he always stopped by to visit her on his way home from work, but she had no idea what that work was, exactly. He'd never said. He always acted so happy to spend a few hours by her side. On the other hand, she felt absolutely nothing for him. Sure, he was a nice enough guy, but he didn't make her heart skip beats. Nobody did that for her.

She looked toward the door as he walked in, this time with a large book under his arm. He approached her bed as she stopped her, her hand held out like a traffic cop. She scrunched her face up in concentration as he watched her expectantly. "What . . . what . . . " she began pounding her fists on the bed in frustration.

"Take your time," he encouraged her as he pulled up a chair. "You can do this. Just take your time."

"What . . . what . . . did . . . I . . . do?"

"What do you mean? You didn't do anything," he answered her. "When did you start talking?"

"Prac . . . practicing," she answered proudly as Mike smiled. "Where's . . . Cleve? You . . . sh . . . shouldn't . . . if . . . he . . . finds . . . you . . . he . . . will . . . hurt . . . me! He . . . will . . . hurt . . . you!"

He closed his eyes as he understood what she was trying to warn him about. She was trying to tell him that if Cleve found him in her room, he'd take his rage out on her. He didn't know how to convince her that she didn't have to worry about Cleve, anymore. He'd been dead for three months now. "Let me worry about Cleve, okay?" He finally answered. "It's great to hear your voice again."

"I . . . didn't . . . do . . . anything?"

"Jill, I don't understand what you mean. Do you think that you did something to end up in here?" He asked as she nodded, glad that he understood her. It was exhausting to talk. "You didn't do anything. There was a bus accident. That's how you got hurt."

"Truth?"

"That's the truth. You didn't do anything to yourself. You got hurt in an accident."

"Okay. Book?" She pointed to the book he had under his arm.

"I brought this from home. I thought that you might like to see pictures of us with our friends."

"No," she shook her head as he stared at her.

"You don't want to look at the album?"

"You . . . need . . . to . . . go! Cleve . . . won't . . . like . . . it!" She hit the bed for emphasis as he got up.

"You're sure that you want me to leave?" She emphatically nodded. "Okay. I don't want to upset you anymore than you already are."

***MJMJMJ***

Terry and Willie were watching TV when they heard Mike's door slam. Terry glanced at his roommate before getting up and leaving the apartment. Willie followed him as he walked next door and rang Mike's doorbell. "Hey, open up! It's the police!" Terry called out.

"It's opened! Come on in!" Mike's muffled voice called out as the two men entered the apartment.

"You're home early," Terry stated the obvious as he took two beers from the refrigerator and handed one to Willie.

"Jill kicked me out of her room. She keeps insisting that Cleve's going to catch her there and take it out on both of us," Mike explained as he drained his beer can.

"Has her doctor said when you can tell her that Cleve's dead?" Willie asked as he sat down.

"He doesn't want me to tell her yet. He's afraid that it'll 'impede' her recovery. At least she's talking now," he added as the guys looked at him.

"She's talking?" Terry asked as the two men both smiled.

"Yeah, but it takes her forever to string a simple sentence together. It was so frustrating that I wanted to just finish her sentences for her!" He put his beer can on the table and put his head in his hands.

"Hey Mike? When can we go and visit her?" Willie asked hopefully.

"Give it time, William. Right now, she barely tolerates my presence."

"I take it that you still haven't been able to make her believe that you're married," Terry guessed as Mike nodded.

"I even took her a couple of pictures that were taken right after the ceremony. I don't know. Maybe she thinks she's been sucked into some kind of alternate universe or something. Her doctor wants to talk to me tomorrow. I don't know what that's all about."

***MJMJMJ***

Dr. Conti was in his office the next morning when Mike arrived. "Come on in, Mike. Have a seat. Would you like some coffee?"

"No, thank you."

"I understand that Jill has started speaking."

"Yeah, but I don't know," he sighed. "The word board made things a lot easier." He immediately felt guilty. "I'm sorry. That was an awful thing to say."

"Mike, it's okay to feel angry and frustrated," the doctor consoled him.

"I just want her to remember me! Instead, she keeps insisting that Cleve is going to show up and get angry at her when he finds her talking to me."

"Was this Cleve person abusive to her?"

"He was extremely abusive to her. I know that you're worried that by telling her about Cleve that it'll slow down her recovery, but don't you think that she has a right to know? Just so she can get this delusion out of her head that he's going to come and kill me?"

"Right now I need to know how far back this memory loss goes. We know that she has no memory of you, so that tells us that it goes back at least five years. How long was she with him?"

"Five years, but she knew him for years before that. I know they first met when she was a kid."

"I don't think that the memory loss extends much beyond the five-year mark. She's not acting like a child, except for throwing things at her therapist," the doctor sighed as Mike bit back a grin.

"She did flip off a nurse a few days ago," he remembered.

"Let me ask you something. Were these two incidents indicative of behavior that she's displayed since your marriage?"

"No, but I do think that flipping off someone would be very much in keeping with the old Jill."

"She was feisty?"

"Well, she still is," Mike smiled. "But it's a little more refined now that she's a nurse and respectably married."

"I'll have a chat with her later. The other thing that I wanted to talk to you about has to do with her right hand. We've kept it braced, but Paul was telling me in our meeting yesterday that when he removes the brace for her therapy sessions, her hand still automatically curls tightly into a fist."

"Won't it get better as her right side gets stronger?"

"Mike, her right side is getting stronger, but there's been little improvement in that hand. This is something that might be corrected surgically. The thing that we're worried about right now is those muscles atrophying. If that happens, she'll lose the use of that hand."

"When would you want to operate?"

"As soon as possible. It's not major surgery, but Jill will be under anesthesia which always carries a risk. I'll have the papers drawn up for you to sign this afternoon when you come to visit her."

"While I'm here, I'd like to meet this therapist that I've ever so much about. That is, if you don't mind."

"Not at all. Follow me," the doctor stood up as both men left the room.

Paul was working with another patient when Mike and Dr. Conti walked into the therapy unit. He gave a few instructions before walking over to the two men. "You must be Mike. I'm Paul Clay," Paul introduced himself as the two men shook hands. "Did Dr. Conti talk to you about Jill's hand?"

"Yes, he did. I understand that she throws things at you."

"All of the time," Paul smiled. "It's okay. I'm used to it and besides, she needs the exercise."

"I wanted to ask you if it would be all right if I came and observed her therapy session?"

"I really don't like family members sitting in. It disrupts my work."

"I'm trying to get through to her and I thought by encouraging, it might help."

"Let me talk to her first. Let me see what she tells me about you. What she can tell me about you will tell me a lot."

"Fair enough," Mike agreed. "It was nice meeting you."

"You, too." Later that morning, Jill was lying on the exercise mat as Paul had her leg up on his shoulder, pushing against her. "You know, it'd really help if you pushed back. You're supposed to be the one doing the work, not me."

"Tired," she complained.

"I don't want to hear about how tired you are. We haven't even gotten to the bars yet, so don't lie there and talk to me about how tired you are. I met your husband this morning," he suddenly announced as Jill glared down the mat at him.

"No."

"No, I didn't meet him? Or, no he's not your husband?"

"Not," she shook her head.

"Well, if he isn't your husband, then who is he? He's been here every day worrying about you, waiting for you to get better. Do you like him?" He asked as he continued working on her leg.

Did she like him? That was an interesting question. He seemed nice enough. Even though he claimed that they were married, he hadn't made any attempts to kiss her or touch her. She was glad because sex was awful. It had been bad enough having to put up with the things that Cleve had done to her every night. The thought of doing those same things with another person was something that she didn't even want to think about.

"He's . . . okay," she finally grudgingly admitted.

"Just 'okay?' You mean to lay there and tell me that he doesn't make your heart beat faster every time he walks into the room?"

Something that he'd just said made a brief flash of memory go through her head. But she didn't understand the flash and it was just as quickly gone. "No . . . I . . . can't . . . like . . . him."

"Why can't you like him?"

"I'll . . . get . . . hurt. Cleve . . . will . . . hurt . . . M . . . him!"

"You're worried that this other guy Cleve will hurt you and Mike?"

"Not . . . not . . . safe . . . for . . . M . . . Mike . . . to . . . see . . . me."

"Well, judging by the look of him, I think that Mike can take care of himself against the likes of your friend Cleve. He'd probably even defend you. Come on, let's get up and move over to the bars."

"No! Paul . . . not . . . today!"

"You don't get a break until you've earned one and so far, you haven't earned one. You know that we have to work on the bars. We have this argument every single day and you lose every single day."

"And . . . every . . . day . . . I . . . fall . . . on . . . my . . . face!"

"Let me ask you something. How badly do you want to get out of here?" He asked as he knelt down beside her and looked her in the eyes.

"I . . . don't . . . like . . . it . . . here."

"Exactly. But until I can get you on your feet, you're going to be staying right here. Look around you, Jill. Do you see any happy people here? No," he answered his own question. "That's because all of the happy people are at Rancho Mirage with Mario, who the ladies all think looks like that curly-haired guy from 'The Mod Squad.' Meanwhile, the unhappy people are stuck here with me and Curtis," he nodded toward his assistant.

With the help of Curtis, he removed the rigid metal brace from her right hand and centered her between the two wooden bars. "I . . . can't!" She cried out in terror as her right hand began to buckle from the bar.

"You can do this!" He shouted encouragement to her from the far end. "Your brain is trying to trick your body into thinking that it can't, but you and I both know better. Make that hand hold on! Keep telling yourself that you can do this!"

She looked toward the end of the bars where Paul was waiting, and glanced down at her hands on either side of the bar. He was wrong. She barely feel his right hand most of the time. Her legs weren't much better. The right one felt like jell-o right now. "Paul . . . "

"Jill, I'm tired of hearing excuses! I need to see results! Two steps! You can do this! You did one step the day before yesterday. Two is one more than one. Concentrate and make your body obey your brain!"

"When . . . can . . . I . . . stay . . . out . . . of . . . my . . . bed?"

"I'll graduate you to a wheelchair when you reach me at the end of these bars. That's 10 steps. You're still a long way from that. Let's work on one thing at a time. Let me see two steps and we'll be done for the day. You can go back to your room and have lunch."

"Promise?"

"I promise. Two steps and we're done."

She bit down hard on her bottom lip and tried to get the impulses down to her leg. Her legs were shaking so badly as she moved first her left leg and then her right as Paul beamed like a proud father watching his baby take her first steps. This was the moment he always strived toward. "It . . . hurts!" She cried as tears rolled down her face.

"I know that it hurts, Jill. You can do this. One more and that's it," he promised as he watched her carefully. Curtis was standing alongside the bars in case she took a spill, which was usually what happened.

She gritted her teeth in concentration as she again moved her left leg. The left leg wasn't a problem. It moved normally. Her right leg, on the other hand, didn't want to do anything. Sweat poured down her forehead as she finally managed to get her right leg to move. Curtis caught her as her knees buckled.

"Very good," Paul praised her as he wheeled her chair over and Curtis placed her in it. "Go have lunch and I'll see you this afternoon."

"Wait! You . . . said . . . I . . . was . . . done . . . for . . . the . . . day," she stammered as Paul smiled wickedly.

"As great as two steps were, don't you think that four steps would be just a little bit better?"

Jill was furious. He'd lied to her! Just like Cleve was always lying to her! Just like Mike was probably lying to her! All men were the fucking same! A bunch of damn liars!

***MJMJMJ***

Mike walked into Jill's room at lunchtime, shocked to find her in tears. "What's wrong?" He walked over to her bed.

"Paul . . . Paul . . . " she sobbed as she fought to get the words out.

"What about Paul? Slow down and tell me," he smiled at her.

"He's . . . mean."

"I don't think he's mean on purpose. Why don't you tell me what he did that was so mean and I'll see if I agree with you?"

"He . . . said . . . two . . . steps . . . this . . . morning," she held up two fingers as he nodded. "Two . . . and . . . that's . . . all . . . for . . . today. I . . . did . . . two . . . steps."

"That's great!" He smiled.

"Wait! He . . . says . . . go . . . have . . . lunch . . . and . . . I'll . . . see . . . you . . . this . . . after . . . noon. Liar!" She shouted in rage.

"He just wants you to get better. That's all any of us want."

"Hurts! All . . . of . . . the . . . time! I . . . can't."

"Babe, I know that it hurts and I know that you want to stop. But you're not going to get better if you don't work hard at it."

"Don't . . . call . . . me . . . that."

"What? Babe?" He asked as she nodded. "Okay, I won't call you that if you don't want me to."

"I . . . think . . . they . . . won't . . . let . . . Cleve . . . see . . . me. They . . . like . . . you . . . better. I . . . can't . . . go . . . away . . . with . . . you."

"Why do you think that they're not letting Cleve see you?"

"A . . . nurse . . . told . . . me . . . that . . . they . . . all . . . like . . . you."

"If he were to visit you, would you leave with him?"

"I . . . no . . . choice. If . . . I . . . try . . . to . . . ever . . . leave . . . he'll . . . kill . . . me."

"He told you that?"

"Yes."

He now better understood Cleve's motivation for his return a few months ago. Clearly delusional and thinking that he was still with Jill, he'd come back to fulfill a promise that he'd made to her. The promise to kill her if she ever left him. Everything made perfect sense now. "I love you," he suddenly announced as her eyes widened.

"No."

"Yes I do. And believe it or not, you love me, too. You just don't remember right now. I want you to listen to me, Jill. I have something that I need to tell you and I don't know how you're going to take it. Cleve's dead, Jill. He's been dead for three months."

"No," she shook her head. "You're . . . lying. You're . . . just . . . saying . . . that. He'll . . . be . . . here."

"Jill, I've never lied to you. He's dead."

She didn't want to believe what he was telling her. He claimed that he'd never lied to her. That was bullshit. She's learned that all men were liars. They'd tell you what you wanted to hear. She was sure that Mike was no different from Cleve or her grandfather or any other man she'd ever been around. She knew that Mike was lying to her just to shut her up. "You . . . say . . . that . . . we're . . . married?" She looked at him as he nodded. "Do . . . we ? You . . . know?"

"Do we have sex?" He asked as she blushed. "Yes, all of the time."

"No," she stared at him. "I . . . don't . . . like . . . doing . . . that." Her voice broke as she once again blushed.

"Believe it or not, you do enjoy it with me. You have scars, Jill. Right here," he pointed to areas on her upper and lower back. "And on the backs of both of your legs. I don't know how you got all of them, but I do know that they're there."

"How?"

"The only way that I could know. I've seen you undressed."

"Tired," she suddenly announced as she lay back against her pillows and closed her eyes.

"Then I'll let you rest. I'll be back this afternoon. Maybe you'll actually let me stay this time."

He slowly left her room and walked to the elevators. As much as he loved her, the visits always left him exhausted and demoralized. Right now he just wanted to put his fists through the nearest wall repeatedly until the feelings of frustration went away.

After he left, Jill lay back on her pillow as her brain tried to deal with all of the thoughts that were swirling through it. She still didn't believe that Cleve was dead. She decided that it was just a story to make her feel closer to him. Cleve would show up and when he did, she knew that he'd give her the worst beating of her life. He didn't like it when she talked to other men. As for the sex part, maybe he'd seen her undressed, but she'd remember if she'd had sex with him. Especially if what he said was true and she actually enjoyed it.

She'd just dozed off and she heard her door open. She opened her eyes to see Dr. Conti stepping up to her bed and checking her chart. "Can we talk for a few minutes?"

"Tired," she protested as she closed her eyes.

"Just give me five minutes, okay?" He walked to the end of the bed and raised it before walking over and helping her adjust her pillows. "Better?" He asked as she nodded. "Do you know why you're here?"

Why was she here? Had anybody told her? Had Cleve beat her? Had one of the bikers? Why couldn't she remember?" No," she shook her head, forgetting that Mike had told her about the bus accident.

"There was a bus accident. You were going home from work. Do you remember that?" He asked as she started to become agitated. "Okay, never mind that for right now. I want you to think back. What's the last thing that you do remember before you woke up here?"

"Party."

"Do you remember who was at the party?"

"Cleve . . . Trap . . . Bear . . . Diane . . . no . . . Diane . . . wasn't . . . there. The . . . bathtub."

"What about the bathtub?"

"Ace . . . she . . . died . . . in . . . the . . . bathtub."

"Jill, let's forget about your friend Diane for right now. Was there anybody else at the party? Was Mike at the party?"

"No. I . . . don't . . . know . . . him."

"Were you and your friends doing drugs at the party? Relax, I'm not going to report you to the police," he quickly said when he saw how upset she was getting.

"I . . . smoked . . . some . . . weed . . . and . . . we . . . were . . . drinking."

"You don't remember Mike, at all?"

"No. He . . . told . . . me . . . that . . . Cleve's . . . dead."

"Yes, he's dead. I wanted him to wait before he told you, but now that you know, how does that make you feel?"

"I . . . don't . . . know. Am . . . I . . . getting . . . better?"

"You're coming along. Would you like for me to talk to you about your injuries?" She nodded as he continued. "When the police found you inside of the bus, you were buried under several seats and a lot of other stuff. You were suffering from hypoxia. This means that there was a loss of oxygen to your brain. You were in a coma for eight days. You're doing extremely well, Jill, especially for somebody who suffered the type of injury that you sustained in the accident."

"I . . . want . . . to . . . walk. I . . . want . . . to . . . sound . . . nor . . . normal."

"I know that. And you will, with time. You have to be patient. Hopefully in a few weeks, you'll be improved enough to start the second phase of your recovery at Rancho Mirage."

"Where . . . is . . . that?"

"It's in the valley. It's a nice place with lots of trees and gardens. I also wanted to talk to you about your right hand. When Mike comes back this afternoon, I'll have a surgical consent for him to sign."

"What . . . are . . . you . . . going . . . to . . . do . . . to . . . my hand?" She asked in terror.

"It's okay. A hand surgeon is going to repair your hand so that it doesn't freeze into a fist and you can get rid of the brace. It's minor surgery. I'm going to let you rest because I understand that you have another date with Paul this afternoon."

She closed her eyes after the doctor left. She didn't want surgery. She was afraid of not waking up again. She wondered how much of her memory would be gone when she woke up this time.

***MJMJMJ***

Mike was in the locker room getting dressed when the guys came strolling in. "How's Jill?" Terry asked as he opened his locker.

"She was tired. She complains that the therapist is mean to her. I told her about Cleve."

"How'd she take the news?"

"I'm not sure. I still don't think she believes me. I think that I'll take her a strawberry milkshake," he grinned as he stood up.

"Michael Danko, always the romantic," Terry teased as Mike's grin broadened.

***MJMJMJ***

Jill was still in therapy when Mike arrived at the hospital, carrying a brown paper bag containing a milkshake. Dr. Conti flagged him down. "Here's the consent form for Jill's surgery."

"Thanks," Mike scrawled his name to the bottom after reading it. "Did you get a chance to talk to her?"

"Yeah. Do you know any of the people that she hung out with when she was Cleve?"

"Just one guy named Trap. He now works for one of my bosses. Why?"

"I asked her what her last memory was before she woke up here. She mentioned a party with Cleve, Trap, somebody named Bear and a woman named Diane. But then she said something about Diane being dead in a bathtub. She said that she smoked some weed and was drinking. I don't know when that party took place, but it probably occurred sometime in the late 60's."

"Did she ask you about Cleve?"

"She told me that you told her that he was dead and I confirmed it. I think that she's still trying to process that information. Keep being patient with her, Mike. What's in the bag?" He asked as he pointed toward the bag.

"I brought her a strawberry shake. It's all right for her to have, isn't it?"

"I don't see why not."

He was sitting in her room when Paul personally wheeled her in 20 minutes after he arrived. His heart sank as he noticed the tear stains on her face. Paul effortlessly lifted her onto the bed and carefully tucked her covers around her. "Rough afternoon?" Mike asked.

"Yeah, but she's making great progress," Paul smiled as he tucked a blanket around her shoulders. "She took a fall, so she's a little upset."

"Stop . . . talking . . . about . . . me . . . like . . . I'm . . . not . . . here!" She sniffled between sobs.

"I'll leave you two alone," Paul smiled as he stepped away from the bed. "I'll see you tomorrow, Jill."

"Are you okay?" He asked in a concerned voice as he handed her a tissue.

"My . . . knee! I . . . fell . . . on . . . it! I . . . hurt!" She wailed.

"I'm so sorry," he lightly put his hand on her shoulder. "I brought you something that might make you feel better."

"What?" She asked suspiciously through her tears.

"This," he pulled the shake from the bag and placed it on her tray table, as her face lit up in the first real smile he'd seen in weeks. "I'm sorry if it's a little melted."

"Straw . . . berry. My . . . favorite," she continued smiling as he slid her table into place and put a straw into the cup. "Thank . . . you."

"You're very welcome."

"You . . . can . . . stay . . . for . . . a . . . while?"

"I can stay for as long as you want me to," he was surprised by her request. This was the first time that she'd actually wanted him to stay. Maybe this was the opening that he needed.

"You're . . . the . . . only . . . person . . . who . . . visits. And . . . you're . . . nice," she blushed as she sipped her shake.

"My parents taught me to be nice and then VMI finished the job?"

"VMI?"

"Virginia Military Institute. My father sent me there when I was seven."

"He . . . sent . . . you . . . away? Why?"

"Why is a long story. I was sent away to school until I was 18, and then I joined the army. I stayed in the army for almost 13 years."

"That's . . . the . . . uniform . . . from . . . the . . . picture?"

"Yeah, that's the uniform in the picture."

"I'm tired," she suddenly announced as she pushed her tray table away. "Can . . . you . . . stay . . . until . . . I . . . go . . . to . . . sleep?"

"I'll stay until you go to sleep," he answered in a gentle voice as he softly moved his hand on her forehead.

"That . . . feels . . . nice," she murmured sleepily as she fell asleep.

He smiled to himself, realizing that he had indeed gotten the opening that he needed.

A/N: I apologize for Jill's halting speech. It's going to be this way for the next several chapters, though it will gradually get better.