Hudson stopped in his tracks as he walked into the sterile room, pausing for just a second as the breath caught in his chest.
She looked small on the gurney, her eyes closed and her frame moving subtly beneath the loose-fitting hospital gown as she breathed. Beside her, a nurse was busy hanging an IV drip.
But as he moved in closer, his eyes inevitably scanned down towards the end of the bed where her right leg was bandaged below the knee, and then… nothing. It was strange to see, but mostly he was just glad to see her and see with his own eyes the small signs that indicated she was alive.
He moved to her side, placed a hand on her arm, giving it a light squeeze, wondering if she might say something or open her eyes if she felt him there. But apart from the slow rhythm of quiet breaths, Vasquez remained still. Hudson touched the back of his fingers to her soft cheek, sensing the still-detectable fever and noticing that her expression appeared a bit stressed. A light thermal blanket lay folded up at the foot of the bed and he unfolded it and carefully began draping it over her, feeling a tinge of annoyance that no one had done that already.
But as he brought the blanket up towards her chest, he noticed that one of Vasquez's hands was smeared with blood and he looked up at the nurse in accusation.
"She was confused coming off of the anesthetic," the nurse explained brusquely. "Pulled the IV right out of her own hand."
A new intravenous line had already been relocated to her arm and he held her bloodied hand in his as the nurse's words registered. "She woke up?"
"Like a bat out of hell... She took a swing at me, you know. Almost knocked my lights out," replied the nurse with a slight edge to her voice. She sifted through items in a supply cart before producing a bandage and a cotton swab, which she doused in antiseptic. "But they sedated her." She hurriedly rubbed the cotton swab against the back of Vasquez's hand, even as Hudson continued to hold the hand protectively.
"I can do it," he said.
The nurse didn't need to be persuaded, seeming glad to hand the bandage over to Hudson. Then, she pointed to a red button at the side of the bed and said with emphasis, "If you need a hand when she wakes…" and left the room without another word.
Hudson gazed at Vasquez's face, her unsettled expression. It made him sad to think about her waking in a panic, feeling threatened and disoriented, switching into survival mode.
"Always gotta put up a fight, don't ya?" he asked her quietly, not expecting a response.
Of course it wasn't her fault, the memories of their last mission were still fresh, raw traumas complicating every thought and tainting every dream. He suspected that no doctor there had bothered to consider her history, the fact that she had just undergone a harrowing ordeal and had barely escaped with her life. They didn't know her. They didn't know what she had gone through. But he did, and he was there now to make sure she was being looked after properly.
He unwrapped the bandage, positioning it over the angry red mark on the top of her hand and pressing it gently in place. Then he brought her bandaged hand up to his lips and kissed it lightly. "Everything's gonna be okay now," he said to her. "I'm gonna look after you."
.
It wasn't like in the movies where someone sat serenely by a person's bedside, waiting patiently for them to wake—things were noisy and chaotic in the recovery ward. Announcements to medical personnel sounding over the PA system, staff checking in via the monitoring screen that sat by Vasquez's bed. Outside of her room, there were always voices talking loudly and the beeping of various pieces of equipment. At one point he had even heard screaming coming from a room down the hall.
The sounds grated on his nerves, wearing down his coping mechanisms, adding to the stress that had been churning the acids of his stomach, reigniting the ache and esophageal burn that had been bothering him all day. Or was that yesterday? Had he been there so long that today was now tomorrow? He had no idea what time of day or night it was.
Not that it mattered because medical staff came in around the clock. Every hour or so, a doctor or nurse would check Vasquez's vitals and change the dressing on her leg, change out her IV bag, or introduce new medicines into the clear cocktail that fed into her veins. In between that, doctors would come in to announce a shift change and introduce themselves, and at least twice now, staff had brought in trays of food. It didn't matter if Vasquez was asleep, they would still leave the food to sit next to her for several hours before they came back to take it away, untouched and uneaten.
The activity seemed to repeat on a loop, until Hudson had lost all concept of how long he had been there. He was exhausted, needed to lay down somewhere to sleep, but was not yet ready to let go of her hand. Longing to feel the twitch of her wakefulness in his grasp, not wanting to miss it.
A doctor appeared in front of him and Hudson's vision snapped back into focus.
The doctor was already talking about something, and it took Hudson a moment to realize the topic of conversation was instructions for Vasquez's physiotherapy regimen. Hudson stared at the doctor in confusion. "She's sleeping," he said dimly.
The doctor, a middle-aged man with graying hair, studied Hudson as if he had just said something incredibly absurd.
"I can see that," the doctor responded slowly. "But when she wakes, she'll need to start strengthening the muscles right away to avoid atrophy. The sooner the better." And when Hudson likely still appeared bewildered, the doctor gave him another quizzical look. "I'm sorry, who are you? I thought you were her partner…"
"I—I'm," Hudson stuttered.
The truth was that Hudson didn't know what he was.
"I'll tell her when she wakes up."
After the doctor left, Hudson went over the instructions in his head—sitting at the side of the bed, extension of the knee, moving the foot on the other leg… something about deep breathing?—and he realized he could only remember half of the things he had been told.
Hudson felt dazed as the absurdity of the circumstances hit him: Vasquez had scarcely even allowed him to stay here with her and now he was the one being given instructions for her care. He could barely take care of himself, how would he be able to take care of her?
He felt alone. So incredibly alone that it made his heart hurt. It seemed like only days earlier that he had been with the rest of the crew, fifteen of them in the mess hall of the Sulaco, laughing and sharing a meal together. Now, it was only him and Vasquez in this place, and there she was, lying in a bed with half her leg gone.
Hudson slumped in his chair, his head in his hand.
"You alright, dear?" came a sudden voice and Hudson looked up to see an older nurse with a warm, bright white smile and curly black hair, standing in the doorway staring back at him.
"Yeah," Hudson answered, rubbing his face.
But the nurse seemed unconvinced and she walked over to him sympathetically. She looked to be about twice his age, short and a bit stout, exuding warmth and compassion. "You wanna talk about it?" she asked him. She sounded American, a detectable Southern accent.
He shook his head, but when he looked back at her face, there was something about her that made him feel comfortable. Maybe it was her appearance, or the accent, but she reminded him of Louise's mother, Valerie, his would-have-been mother-in-law. Instantly, Hudson felt like he could talk to her.
"I dunno what I'm doing," he blurted out. "I can't even remember simple instructions from the doctor. I just feel like I'm gonna screw everything up. I don't even know if we're together—if I'm her friend or her boyfriend—whether I'm here because I love her or 'cause she's all I got left."
He suddenly felt ashamed of his words and he hoped there was no way Vasquez could hear him in her sleep.
The nurse nodded understandingly and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Do you care about her, honey?" she asked.
"Well yeah, of course I do," Hudson answered hoarsely and he looked at Vasquez on the bed.
"Then that's all she needs right now. All that other stuff don't matter."
Hudson nodded.
"Course, you're here and I've been told you've barely let go of her hand since she got out of surgery—if that ain't love, I don't know what is." She chuckled joyfully.
Hudson stared at Vasquez with concern. "She's just been out for so long. Does it usually take this long for them to wake up?"
"Sometimes," said the nurse. "But the sleep is good for her. You could probably use some of that too, you know. Relax, honey, her stats look fine."
.
Hudson was somewhere between the realms of sleep and wakefulness when he felt movement grazing his palm.
Vasquez was moving, shifting in the bed, seeming a bit restless.
Hudson immediately felt awake, his heart racing as he sat poised at the edge of his chair next to the bed. "Come on, Vaz," he said to her. "Just open your eyes."
More movement as he stroked her forehead and cheek.
"Vaz?" he said, hopefully.
"Dónde estoy?" came her groggy voice, her eyes still closed.
His Spanish was limited, but he knew that one. The question raised alarm bells in his mind.
"You're in the hospital, remember? You're okay. Everything's okay."
Her eyelashes began to flutter and he saw her dark brown eyes, unfocused and distant.
"Vasquez?"
She seemed disoriented as she scanned the room. Then her eyes fell on him and she looked at him pleadingly. "Where is Carmen?" she asked him, her face fraught with concern.
"Carmen? You mean, your sister?" Hudson asked, puzzled. All at once, he realized the strength of the medication she was on. "Uh, she just stepped out," Hudson lied quickly, hoping to ease her apprehension. "She's fine. She wanted you to get some sleep."
"They found her?" asked Vasquez, the concern on her face changing to a look of sadness as her brow quivered. Her eyes closed, and he was surprised to see tears slipping down her cheeks.
"Vaz?"
"I fucked everything up," she said, ragged breaths turning into quiet sobs. He had never seen her cry before.
Witnessing her sadness made emotion rise in his throat, and he wiped the tears off her cheeks as they fell. "Don't worry. Everything's okay, I promise," he pleaded, hoping she would believe him.
At his touch, Vasquez looked at him in confusion, and a new worry came over Hudson.
"Vaz... Do you know who I am?" he asked her softly.
She was silent for a moment, but then she said, "Hudson," tears continuing to slide down her cheeks. He wondered if she even knew that she was still crying.
He nodded and leaned in, kissing her cheeks, feeling her tears on his lips, trying to make her pain go away. He wanted to hug her tightly, pull her in close, but between the tubes and wires and her fragile appearance, he was afraid. He worried about disturbing the IV going to her arm or the lines connecting her to the heart rate monitor. Carefully, Hudson wrapped his arms around the tops of her shoulders, his fingers finding the skin of her upper arm through one of the large sleeve holes of her hospital gown. He held his lips to her temple until she went a bit limp in his embrace, and the only indicator that she was still awake was the feeling of her eyelashes brushing against his cheek.
"How do you feel?" he asked, pulling away to see her face.
"Tired," she said. Her eyes closed for several seconds before opening again.
"Just rest then," Hudson said to her. While he knew she needed sleep in order to recover, a part of him selfishly wanted her to stay awake so he could be with her. "You don't have to worry about anything, you can sleep now."
Vasquez's eyes were already closed, but she managed to say, "Come'ere," and she weakly pulled his hand towards her.
Hudson smiled sadly as Vasquez put her arms around him and nuzzled his cheek.
"I love you," she said.
Hudson gently broke away from her and looked at her face in surprise. He knew what he had heard, and as much as he liked the sound of the words coming from her mouth, he knew it was the drugs talking, not her. He gave a little laugh, thinking about how mortified she would be if she knew what she was saying.
He smiled at her fondly. "Okay. Close your eyes now, get some rest. You'll feel more like yourself when you wake up again."
Vasquez's eyelids drooped as she brushed her cheek against the pillow and exhaled a sound of comfort. He kissed her forehead but she was already breathing deeply again, asleep.
.
Hudson was sitting stiffly in the chair, feeling the residual shock of Vasquez's words, when the nurse that reminded him of Valerie Carlisle stopped again in the doorway. In her hands was a cafeteria tray.
"Thought I'd bring you something before ending my shift," she said, bringing the tray forward and setting it on the table beside Hudson. It held a cup of coffee, a glass of water, a wrapped sandwich and an energy bar. "Now, this is for you. I don't want to come by later and find it uneaten."
Hudson sat up straighter, touched by the thoughtful gesture. "Wow. Thank you."
"So I gotta ask," said the nurse with her hands on her hips. "Where is God's name did you get one of those?" She pointed at his cast. "I did a plaster cast in med school once, haven't seen one since!"
Hudson gave a laugh. "I got it here on Gateway, believe it or not," he replied. "The quarantine unit. I guess they're set up with just the basics there."
"The quarantine unit?" asked the nurse and her eyes widened. "You weren't one of the marines from the Sulaco, were you? I heard about that in the media." She looked at Vasquez, recognition sweeping her face as her suspicions were confirmed. Until that point, Hudson hadn't given much thought to the fact that their pictures were probably plastered throughout the mediasphere, their catastrophic failure on LV-426 newsworthy, even if many of the finer details were withheld from the public.
"Yeah. We were the last of the team from the Sulaco." Hudson nodded, taking a sip of the coffee and it tasted weak and bitter, of hospital coffee, but still he looked up at the nurse obligingly and said, "Mmm. Real good."
She gave him a warm smile. "You know, if you come by the clinic in Medical Wing B on Thursday, I can replace it with a resin-net cast."
Hudson gave a hasty glance at his itchy orthopedic cast, the black marker drawing of their short-lived 'family of five' that Newt had done. He would be sad to lose her artwork, but the thought of letting his arm breathe, being able to scratch the constantly itching skin beneath the hardened plaster sounded heavenly.
"Thursday? Yeah that'd be great."
"Just ask for me, Trudy, and we'll see if we can get that arm back into the twenty-second century."
"Thanks Trudy, that would be awesome." Hudson held out his hand. "I'm Will Hudson, by the way."
Trudy gave his hand a firm shake and turned to Vasquez. "So this must be... Private Vasquez then? I've been following your stories, but I didn't expect you folks to still be here."
"The others went back to Earth. Vaz and I are the only ones here. We stayed… for this."
. . .
The bed was hard and it squeaked as he moved his position, the skin on his arms sticking to the stiff cushion; plastic fabric made to look like leather. The bed sat in a small, windowless room—the place where kids would go when they felt sick. It also doubled as the school's supply closet and a dirty bucket sat nearby with a mop in it and he wondered how many kids had thrown up in there.
Hudson had laid there with stomach aches before, sometimes relishing the fact that he got to miss class. But this time, he was feeling worse than normal. It was his head that throbbed, the swollen lip and stiff jaw from a fight he had instigated. The kids had been two grades older than him.
As he laid on the hard bed, Hudson stared up at the door. It was open a crack, a prism of yellow light coming into the dark room from the school's main hallway. Every time someone passed on the other side of the door, it would cause a break in the light and he would get a start of nervousness.
His father was on his way to get him. He would be there any moment.
He would be angry. Hudson wondered if he would save his fury for when they got home, or whether he would be so mad that he would go off at Hudson right there in the school. Or the car ride home.
Lately, his father had begun drinking more during the day. The call from the school would have likely woken him from the stupor Hudson and his brother usually found him in each day when they got home.
Most days after school, Hudson and his brother John would fend for themselves, make dinner and do homework, being careful not to wake their father. But even after all of their efforts, eventually their father would wake and take his frustrations out on them. Unfairly, it was usually John who would bear the brunt of it.
There was a sudden absence of light and Hudson looked up in fear. A looming shadow lingered in the doorway. But as the door opened further and more light entered his eyes, Hudson could see that it was not his father at all, but his brother.
"Heard they beat the shit outta you," said John.
"I fucked up Fender's nose pretty good," Hudson replied indignantly through his fat lip. He had expected his brother to laugh at that, but he didn't.
"Come on, Billy. Get your shit, let's go."
Hudson stood and grabbed his backpack. "They said Dad was coming to get me."
John shot him a quick warning glance as the office supervisor, Mrs. Anton walked by the door and gave John a questioning look.
"Hurry it up, Dad's waiting in the car!" John said loudly as they walked away quickly, still sensing they were under Anton's skeptical gaze. Hudson knew by John's tone that he was lying.
As expected, once outside the school, John led them away from the parking lot, and instead, they crossed the street to begin the route home on foot.
"You are some lucky punk that I picked up that call, not Dad," said John, his hand messing up Hudson's hair. "If he had to come down here to get you he would have lost it."
"I know. Thanks John," said Hudson sheepishly. He looked up at his older brother who was now fourteen years old and in his first year of high school. It was only at that moment that he noticed how tall John had gotten. "So they actually thought it was Dad on the phone?"
"Yeah," John laughed, and he put on a deep voice that exuded maturity, recreating the conversion, "Thank you for informing me. My apologies for the trouble, I'm on my way now."
They both laughed.
"So fuckin' gullible."
Their laughter faded, but then John gave him a serious look. "What the fuck were you thinking picking a fight like that? Jesus, Billy, do you think I don't see how you've been acting lately?"
"How?" Hudson asked with a frown.
"You're so angry. I know you are. You're purposely trying to start shit at school. And at home... you're not careful with what you say to Dad. You think letting your anger out will make you feel better, but it just makes things worse."
"Whatever, let him come after me. I'm not afraid of Dad."
John stopped in his tracks and grabbed Hudson's arms forcefully. "Don't! Don't be so fucking childish. This is real, okay? I'm not messing around here!"
Hudson stared at his brother, surprised by his intensity.
"You gotta take responsibility for your actions. No more shit like this, nothing that'll irk the old man. Promise? You gotta do your part. We gotta have each other's backs in this, okay?
. . .
Something was not right.
Hudson opened his eyes.
Vasquez was breathing heavily. Wheezing.
"Vasquez?" he asked in confusion, standing, looking over her, trying to figure out what was happening.
She was gasping now, barely able to breathe.
Vasquez!" He jostled her arm but she was like a rag doll moving in his grasp. Fear overwhelmed him as he pressed the red button.
A siren sounded, and a face appeared on the monitor, asking a question.
"We need help in here!" yelled Hudson, and his mind raced to remember his first aid training, tracking her pulse, poised to start CPR at the first sign of cardiac arrest.
Just then, a doctor quickly entered with a cart and Hudson could see it contained an oxygen tank and defibrillator system.
"Move!" said the doctor and Hudson stepped aside as the man pulled out an oxygen mask and held it to Vasquez's face.
But just as he did so, her eyes shot open at the feeling of something being put over her mouth, her arms coming up in panic, trying to push the doctor away.
"Vaz!" Hudson tried to intervene, but the doctor yelled at him to step back. Unnerved, Hudson watched as the doctor continued to try to wrestle the mask onto Vasquez's face, holding down her arms as she lashed out in desperation.
Hudson snapped.
"Give her some space, goddammit!" Hudson yelled, pushing the doctor roughly aside. Boldly, he grabbed the oxygen mask out of the doctor's hands, the man staring back at him in shock. Hudson ignored him.
He put his hand softly on Vasquez's cheek and her brown eyes blinked back at him as she struggled to breathe. "It's okay Vaz, it's just a bit of air," and he stroked her hair calmingly, showing her the oxygen mask. She let him bring it closer, and he gently placed the mask over her mouth and nose. She took in large breaths of oxygen.
It took several minutes for her breathing to return to normal, but when it did, her demeanor seemed more calm.
He still felt the glare of the doctor, who was now standing back from the bed, watching Hudson carry out the task, reluctantly allowing him to continue. After a couple more minutes, the doctor held out his hand, and Hudson carefully took the oxygen mask away from Vasquez's face and gave it back to the doctor.
"You pull something like that again and I'm calling security," he said to Hudson sternly, then he exited the room with the cart.
And when Hudson looked down at Vasquez, as she breathed on her own, there was lucidity in her eyes and a slight amusement as she stared back at him. Never had he been so happy to see those deep brown eyes.
"Morning sweetie pie," Hudson said to her, gauging her coherency.
Vasquez winced at his words and Hudson took it as a good sign. She uttered something in a raspy voice and he leaned in towards her. "Swear'll kill you," she murmured, but he could see her cheeks raise slightly, her eyes squint on her tired face in the suggestion of a smile. But then it faded, and in a barely audible voice she asked, "Did they do it?"
"Yeah," he replied and Vasquez let out a breath of acknowledgement. "But everything went well, you're gonna be okay now," Hudson reassured her.
Her eyes gazed back at him. "Thanks for being here."
He shrugged. "Just wanted to keep an eye on you… They got no bedside manner in this place."
"They're gonna kick you out."
"Let 'em try," he responded heartily. There was no way he was going to let anyone pull him away from her side.
.
"You asked about your sister," he said.
Vasquez paused. "Shit," she said, looking nervous. "I did? What else did I say?"
"That was about it," said Hudson, deciding to spare her the embarrassment of the truth for now. "But you were worried about her… Hey, do you want me to try to track her down for you? Maybe she should know that you're here."
"I've tried, I've never been able to find her. She would have changed her name..." She shook her head.
He nodded, knowing that it must be hard for her. He knew the feeling; he hadn't seen his brother since John walked out of the house at age sixteen and never returned. A couple years later, Hudson heard a rumor that John had moved to a different state and was incarcerated on charges of drug possession. He had never been able to track him down.
Hudson took the time to relay to Vasquez all of the information he had been given by the doctors. He racked his brain, bumbling through his interpretation of the instructions for the physiotherapy exercises and aftercare regimens, uncertain in his delivery, like a bad link in the game of 'telephone'.
So he was relieved when the next doctor to come in was Vasquez's surgeon, Dr. Haines, and she was able to fill in some of the blanks. He was even more relieved when the surgeon seemed happy with Vasquez's incision, her heart rate and other measures of her current condition.
"Good, Jenette. You're looking much more alert," said Haines. "I think you're ready to start moving around, so I'm going to go ahead and remove your IV and catheter."
As Dr. Haines nonchalantly lifted the bed covers and Vasquez's gown, Hudson turned away respectfully so that he wouldn't see anything she might not want him to. He watched Vasquez as her face grew a bit red and he squeezed her hand, unfazed.
Vasquez rolled her eyes. "How's this for a first date?"
"I feel very close to you right now," Hudson joked and he was happy when she laughed at that.
The doctor finished what she was doing and looked back at them, having overheard their exchange. "I assumed you two were together, the way he's been sitting by your bedside."
Hudson remained silent, his turn to feel a bit embarrassed.
"We are," Vasquez said plainly, looking back at the doctor and then a bit bashfully at Hudson. He smiled, pleasantly surprised by her response.
Dr. Haines nodded and she updated Vasquez's electronic chart before leaving.
"It's like the staff here have never seen an awkward, undefined relationship before," said Hudson when she had gone.
"How long have you been here?" Vasquez asked him, likely in response to Haines' comment about him waiting by her bedside. "Have you gone back to the room at all?"
Hudson shook his head. "I don't trust the people here. I didn't want to leave you alone with them."
Vasquez looked at him in dismay. "Go, get some sleep, take a shower, man," she said with a laugh and pushed him playfully away from her, but her hand lingered on his arm, seeming reluctant to let go. Her voice was softer when she spoke again, "You must be exhausted. Please, go home and get some rest."
It occurred to him that she had used the word 'home', referring to their room that they were about to share together. Then, she pulled him back towards her and when he leaned in, she kissed him on the lips.
It was a good kiss. The really deep kind that, until now, seemed reserved for their moments in bed or just before it, solely existing as an accompaniment to sex. Now, here was such a kiss on its own, and it felt surprising coming from her. It made him wonder if maybe there had been some truth behind the drug-induced words she had spoken earlier.
When they parted, she paused with her eyes closed serenely, her hand resting on his chest, as if trying to prolong the feeling. "'Kay. Now you can go."
Hudson smiled at her. "Okay. Are you gonna be alright, though? What if you need something?"
"There's enough people around this place, I'll manage. You've done enough for me already."
He gave her another quick kiss and they said goodnight to one another without having any real concept of what time of day or night it actually was.
Hudson was just turning to leave when he added on a whim, "You know, there was actually something else that you said while you were drugged."
"Oh yeah? What?" asked Vasquez with visible apprehension.
"You told me you loved me," Hudson replied honestly.
Vasquez's face dropped and she looked back at him in shock. But then, a second later, she began laughing. "You fucking liar. Get out of here," she said, shaking her head at him amiably.
He grinned, having gotten the response he had expected.