A/N: Thank you to Zettel for pre-reading.
Through the mirror of my mind
Time after time
I see reflections of you and me
Reflections of
The way life used to be
"Reflections"
The Supremes
November 26, 2012
Montreux, Switzerland
In the early morning hours, the corridor outside Madame X's room was poorly lit. Ciel refrained from turning on the light, just in case the woman was not awake yet. Last night was the first night since Madame X had revived from her coma that she seemed to get any restful sleep at all. The woman's strength and color had greatly improved. She finally had an appetite last evening.
The woman's presence of mind had started to come back to her and she was asking questions.
Ciel had promised a full disclosure this morning. Early, before any of her four-legged patients arrived for their scheduled appointments, was best.
Ciel leaned through the door, seeing her patient was awake. The woman was lying flat on her back, staring at the ceiling. Both arms were wrapped around her middle and her legs were folded, tucked against her body. Her face was blank, but her body language suggested pain.
"Bonjour," Ciel whispered. She tried to be as soothing as possible, knowing how much she had to tell this poor woman.
The woman was unresponsive at first, blinking several times before she seemed to notice the doctor standing in her doorway. The woman slowly turned her head, her blue eyes dark. "Can we speak in English?"
"Of course." Ciel moved into the room and sat in the chair beside the bed. "Do you think it's possible that it's your native language? English?"
"The United States," Madame X said, both a question and a statement.
"Did you recall that information?" Ciel asked, sitting up straighter, suddenly hopeful.
Madame X was thoughtful. "Not…the way you think. I heard you call me 'Madame X.' I don't know how I know, but in America the term for that is Jane Doe."
Ciel had been searching on the Internet, looking for ideas, researching treatment options for severe memory loss. Neurology was not her specialty, but her patient had no other option at the moment, so Ciel did her best. Everything she had read pointed to associations as a means of fostering memory recovery, allowing the brain to make the connections, slowly easing the information from the dark into the light. Too much concentration, too much trying, was counterproductive.
"So for now, maybe we use Jeanne? The French version of Jane." Ciel smiled. "It's nicer…and easier than Madame X. It draws less attention to your situation, if you know what I mean."
"Jeanne…" The woman gasped at the French pronunciation. "Jennifer."
"Is that your name?" Ciel asked eagerly.
Her patient squinted, like a bright light had shone in her eyes. She shook her head side to side. "Yes…but…no. I know that name…but it's not…really me. My name — but not my name." She rocked side to side, still clutching her middle. "I can't explain it any differently. I'm sorry."
"Forcing it only makes it worse," Ciel assured her. "It's a start. Do you mind if I use Jennifer? It was a little familiar. It might jog other memories."
The woman Ciel now thought of as Jennifer nodded slowly.
"Do you remember anything else about Jennifer? About who you are?"
"My…hair is blonde. It's not now, but it's…supposed to be."
"Yes, it is." Ciel paused, thinking. "It's been dyed, but it's growing out. Do you remember dying it? Why did you dye it?"
"No," Jennifer fretted. "Dr. Grisel–"
"Call me Ciel, please."
"Ciel, please, just tell me everything that you know. I have this…awful feeling that you know more than what you've said, like you're holding something back from me. Protecting me. Please…I need to know." Jennifer's eyes filled with tears.
"Would you like to ask me anything? Ask first, let me answer, then I will fill in the rest. Your anxiety over those most important answers will interfere with any recoverable memories, I have no doubt."
"Where are we?"
"Switzerland. Montreux, Switzerland. On Lake Geneva."
Jennifer's expression was complex. A jolt of surprise…and a hint of familiarity.
"Have you been to Switzerland before?" Ciel asked, prodding gently, hoping not to overwhelm her.
"Yes…" Jennifer's voice was heavy with sadness and inexplicable longing. She clutched at her chest, as if there were pain behind her breastbone, like she was massaging a broken heart. Jennifer closed her eyes and the tears streamed from beneath her closed eyelids, down her cheeks and across her temples. "A long time ago, maybe," Jennifer moaned. "How did I get here?"
There was no reason to hold back what she knew, what she believed. "A woman, most likely CIA, contacted my courier, David, the man you saw yesterday. She didn't tell him much. Only that she had someone who required my services, with a place and a time, and a code word. David thought the CIA agent was posing as a doctor, that she somehow managed to travel from…somewhere else…on a chartered medical flight. That was just speculation, though, on his part. He has been doing this for a long time, and he's usually correct."
"CIA…sounds… right," Jennifer said slowly. "But…it's like my name. It's right, but…it's wrong too."
So many holes, missing bits of the puzzle. "I thought you might be CIA. All those languages…and your fighting skills. Things…ingrained in you, below your conscious memory, exerting themselves, like a reflex or an instinct."
"I'm sorry I attacked you," Jennifer said meekly, looking away. "I…don't know what possessed me to do that. I just felt…trapped. I don't know why."
With a compassionate voice, Ciel added, "Some kind of trauma…that you lived through, but you don't remember."
"Why don't I remember anything? What happened to me?" Jennifer twisted in her bed, fixing Ciel with an intense look.
Ciel was cautious, treading carefully through an unmapped minefield. "We don't know. The woman who brought you to David most certainly did not know you would wake up and have no memory of what happened. You were…close to death…when David brought you here."
Jennifer's eyes roamed, pausing on the white bandage taped to the inside of Ciel's elbow. Ciel was instantly reminded that she had forgotten to remove it, the skin beneath the tape now red and itchy as she absently pulled it from her skin.
"I do not have the capability of transfusing units of packed red cells, or anything of the sort. But your hematocrit–" Ciel thought about the word, and the need for explanation. "--your blood level was dangerously low. From blood loss. Luckily, I have O negative blood, so my blood was compatible with yours. Direct vein to vein transfusion is…not ideal, but the only option I had."
Ciel recalled making the decision, once she had ascertained the desperate situation. The doctor had sat at her patient's bedside, immobile for hours with a tube connecting her vein with her patient's vein. In a slow drip, Ciel's blood transferred into her patient's anemic body. An unconventional type of caregiving, but Ciel had learned to be innovative.
The information sunk in, but then Jennifer's hand covered her mouth as she sobbed, struggling to speak. "The…the bleeding…I…did I…"
Ciel leaned forward, grabbing Jennifer's hand and squeezing tightly, offering support. "I wasn't sure how aware you were…of your body...about what happened to you…"
"I had a baby," Jennifer sobbed, the shuddering of her body vibrating the bed frame.
She remembered. Did she actually remember, or had she felt the changes Ciel had seen in the woman's body upon initial examination? Was this her first child? There were ways to tell, medically, but nothing Ciel could discern with her rudimentary tools. It was traumatic, but Ciel could not keep the truth to herself.
"About a month ago, from my estimation."
Jennifer sobbed out loud again, unable to catch her breath.
"Where is she?" Jennifer finally shrieked, flailing, moving frantically towards the doctor.
Ciel held her in place, firmly, unsure of Jennifer's strength. "I wish I had better information, but I don't. David has been looking for the woman who brought you here. We think she might know." Jennifer's words came back to Ciel. "You said… she. Do you remember anything about having your baby? Where you were…what happened?"
Through her tears, Jennifer replied, "Just…her face. I dream about her face. I close my eyes and I see her face. But I don't remember anything else." Her body shook. "My… baby…" she moaned.
Sympathetic, empathetic tears, burned in Ciel's eyes. Was this woman's baby still alive? Ciel wished she had answers, some comfort she could give. At least there was hope. Ciel envied this woman for her chance at hope, even if it was fleeting. Ciel knew pain, but hopeless pain. No matter, she didn't have the luxury of indulging it, or even of sharing it. She had to remain strong, remain someone for her patient to lean on.
"You said to me earlier that the CIA…sounded right. But…CIA with…a baby? I don't understand…"
"We wanted to have a baby." Jennifer's voice was trance-like.
" We?" Ciel asked. "Are you married?" She thought of the tan lines, the missing rings, her own assumptions.
Jennifer grabbed her head, squeezing her temples as if attempting to remember was painful. "I feel…like if I tried hard enough…I could…see his face…but it doesn't stay. I can't–"
The direct question was unanswered. Was she married? Or was the man she thought of just her baby's father? Was this unknown man looking for her? Or, Ciel thought with a growing sense of unease, was the man she was trying to conjure the one who had inflicted the damage, and her patient was simply confused?
"Don't try too hard. Things come easier when you relax…and just let them come," Ciel soothed. She coaxed Jennifer to settle back in her bed. When she was calm, Ciel turned to leave. The day needed to start.
"Why are you helping me?" Jennifer asked.
The truth was complicated, far too involved for a brief answer. "It's my job," Ciel answered.
Although technically, she was a veterinarian. By default. Being a doctor was more of who she was than what she did, which was why she couldn't just walk away when she knew there were people who needed her help.
She was still repaying a debt, one that could never be repaid.
{}{}{}{}{}{}{}
"What can I do for you, my friend?" the old man behind the counter in the tavern asked David as he leaned across.
"I'm sorry to bother you. But I need directions to Marseille. From Dresden."
Code words, the names of European cities corresponding to people. David was Dresden; Ciel, in a similar fashion was Cannes, when her services were mentioned in coded speech. Everyone else he knew, he knew only as their code name. Marseille was the woman who had asked for him, through this old man and the back channel he ran from his place of business in Zurich.
However she had known before, Marseille had asked the old man or one of his associates for directions to Cannes. But almost always, the traffic (he groaned at his inner metaphor) only flowed in one direction. Marseille was the one asking how to get to Cannes. Dresden asking for Marseille upset the natural order. By the expression on the old man's face, David was sure that was happening again.
"I'll see what I can do. But it may take some time," the old man sighed. "Can I ask you why?"
Because it was a professional question, David felt compelled to give him an answer, even if it was improvised code. "The package was…damaged. And…incomplete."
"Fair enough," the old man quipped.
David lingered, drumming his fingers on the bar. He waited for the old man to serve a drink to the man seated two stools down from him.
The old man noticed him standing there. "Is there something else I can help you with?"
"Any word from our mutual friend?" David asked him.
The old man sighed and shook his head. "David, David…you must let this go."
"You know that I can't do that. She's determined to continue what she's doing, no matter how dangerous it is. I can only do so much."
"It is her purpose. Her reason for living. You cannot take that away from her, no matter how…worried you may be."
David rubbed a hand over his face. "My friend, you don't understand. She doesn't know about the man looking for her. The terrorist's patron."
The old man's eyes widened in surprise. "You never told her? What's the matter with you?" he shouted, then looked around anxiously, afraid his volume had attracted undue attention. "She relies on you for information! She has a bounty on her head and you never told her?!"
David's eyes darkened. "She cannot bear to speak of it. And I…I can't bear to cause her pain."
"So instead, you would let her be killed?" the old man sputtered. "Surely you could explain the present without dredging up the past. You are an intelligent and resourceful man, David."
His eyes flashing with anger and determination, David retorted sharply, "Never. I will never let anything happen to her." He clenched his fist until he felt his fingernails cutting into his palm. "But that's why I asked. I need help."
The old man regarded David, his eyes soft with pity. "I will prioritize Marseille. But I'll also do what I can concerning our mutual friend." The old man clicked his tongue with reproach. "If you won't tell her, at least do what you can to protect her. Without her, my network falls apart."
David nodded once, bowing his head in appreciation. He hated waiting, but for now, that was the best he could do. The old man's network was important, David acknowledged that.
But without Ciel, David's whole world fell apart. Did she know he felt that way? To some degree, superficially, she did. But the depth, the magnitude of his feelings, David was sure she didn't–couldn't–comprehend.
He didn't know how to bridge that gap. The only thing he could do was what the old man had asked. He could protect her.
"Goodbye. And thank you," David said as he left.
The old man's code name was Oslo, his real name unknown, though the old man called him David. The regulars in the tavern called the old man Otto, and following the pattern, it made sense. David still never used the old man's real name. Or at least, what David believed was his real first name.
In his world, nothing was certain, nothing for sure.
Only Ciel Grisel. His gray sky. And the way she made him feel. The essence of her—the woman, not the doctor or the veterinarian or the pseudo-spy.
The woman whose real name he didn't know but whose essence he could feel.
