Until You Come Back to Me

Ben texted and emailed his superiors as he made his way out of the hospital, blowing by a concerned-looking Jonah. His mind was going one million miles an hour as he drove, ordering a plane ticket at the red lights that stopped him on his way home. He had less than two hours before his flight took off. He grabbed his shoulder bag and filled it with random stuff. He stuck his phone charger in the front pocket and headed out of the door. He called Miranda. As he suspected, she didn't answer. He sent her a quick text message as he left her a voicemail: I am… on my way home. I can't wait to see you. I love you, baby. You know that, right? I love you. On the plane, he thought about how he would approach her. One thing he never wanted to do was piss her off or make her retreat deeper inside of herself. And if she was locked inside of her lab, she must have felt defenseless. He yawned, he was so exhausted. He fell asleep for the short flight. Off the plane, he rushed to the taxi stand and hopped in the first available car. Getting to the hospital, he headed straight for her genome lab, hustling through the hallways trying not to bump into anyone or knock anything down. Standing outside of the door was Richard Webber. "Hey," he said jogging toward the man who was looking through the small window.

Richard turned to him, his face solemn. They shook hands. "You made the flight?"

"Just barely," Ben admitted. "Thanks for the call."

"She needs you," Richard told Ben. They looked at each other for a short time before the older man walked off. Ben moved into the now vacant spot and stared through the window. Through it, he could see Miranda sitting at a long desk. He said a quiet and quick prayer before he knocked on the door. Three times. He watched her stop working for a second, probably thinking that it was someone else, anyone else. She put her head down and went back to what she was doing. What was it that she was doing?

"Miranda." Hearing her name from his lips made her pick her head up again. His face twitched. She had that same power over him. "Open the door," he demanded. Ben watched his wife turn in her chair and saunter to the door. There was no smile, no rush—nothing that signaled that everything was okay. Miranda opened the door, allowing him more than enough room to get in. "I got on a plane as soon as I heard."

"Who called you?" She asked softly, pushing back some hair.

"Doesn't matter," he answered stepping inside of the room and taking a quick look around.

"Yeah, it does. Your intern exams are coming up soon." Somehow he'd forgotten all about them. The last few hours had his mind warped.

Ben put his bag down and looked at her. She looked so vulnerable; even more so than when she'd asked him to promise that their relationship was going to be okay. And he'd made that promise and kept it. "And I'm your husband." Miranda let go of her breath and her shoulders dropped. "Being there for you is my main job now. There's no need to keep doing things by yourself anymore." He stared at her. Usually, she was the one making him feel better especially during his intern year. It had been so stressful and adding marriage on top of it was like a cherry on a really odd, but delicious sundae. Miranda's face was so sad. He touched her arms and hugged her. "Come here." Ben wrapped his arms around her, squeezing her tightly. He kissed the top of her head softly. "This wasn't your fault."

"Yeah. Yeah, it was my fault," she told him pulling herself from him. The warmth he'd just felt a minute ago was gone.

"No, you were cleared." He placed his hands on his waist, giving her space.

"No, it was my infection. I put my hands in those patients, and they died. I operated on them and they died. A son and a mother and a… and a teacher. I knew their families. And they all died because of me. Now they want me to go back in an OR. I mean, they… they say that it doesn't happen again, but nobody knows that." She brushed past him slowly and pointed to the desk she'd been sitting at. He turned and he looked to where she was pointing. There were four long rows of Petri dishes. Each was labeled with her name and the date and a number. Ben felt the hairs on his arms stand up.

"I-I've been, um, testing myself and, uh, testing myself and testing myself. But it doesn't go away—the, um, feeling. I f-feel so dirty." With her back to him, he let go of the breath he'd been holding and inhaled another. "Just all the time. So dirty." He slid his arms around her body and found her hands. Miranda reacted immediately. "No." She pulled away again and turned around to face him. The redness in her eyes accompanied the tear stains on her cheeks. "They all died because of me."

"No," Ben said reaching for her.

"They died." She said holding up the hands, the ones that had failed her.

"No. no." He whispered, fearing that his voice would break and betray him. Through her sobbing, Miranda fought his grip, but he held on tight, rubbing her back. He didn't want to give her any more space; she'd had enough time to deal with everything on her own. Ben kissed his wife's forehead and she pushed her face into his chest, her sobs turning to a soft wail. "Shhhh." They rocked together in the dark room. Ben inhaled Miranda, happy to be home and holding her and squeezing her body, but understandably sad about the situation, hating what she was going through. "It's not your fault." Ben heard the door close softly and was grateful to whoever gave them immediate privacy. He stroked her hair. "It's… going to be okay." He hoped he was right.