Matt's eyes fluttered open on a world of agony.
Bright light. Too bright, too brilliant. He closed them. He hurt too much to sob, and he couldn't speak. A shadow loomed over him, so he tried again. He couldn't make out the face, but the curly brown hair that surrounded it seemed familiar. The world floated in a lovely warm soup. He giggled, then coughed in agony, which faded to a dull ache.
"Shhh," the figure whispered. A cool hand stroked his head. "It's okay. You'll be home soon, I promise."
He closed his eyes and drifted. I am yours. He shuddered as the thought wracked through him.
* * *
He came to again, and a black nurse smiled at him with unnaturally white teeth. "Hey there, Mr. Rowley. How you feeling?" She set down her clipboard and put one hand on his.
Everything hurt, more than he'd ever imagined anything could hurt, but he didn't care. He took a deep breath but it ended up shallow, cut off by a stab of pain. "Hard to breathe. My skin feels . . . tight."
She gave him a matter-of-fact nod. "That's the bandages. You looked like a fried chicken when they brought you in. Was pretty cut up with some nasty burns besides."
"Were." He smiled.
She grinned a very pretty grin and waggled a finger at him. "Don't you sass me, Mr. Rowley, or I'll swap that morphine with water. Or something worse." She left the room muttering.
He hazed out, and when he came to, Monica sat next to him, hands on her bulging belly, short, platinum blonde hair showing dark roots, her face a pale white tinged with green. His eyes widened. "Shit, Mo, you need to be lying down." His words slurred around a thick tongue.
She squeezed his hand. "I know, but I need to be here more. They brought me a cot for when I should sleep, which they seem to think is all the time."
"Where am I?"
"Saint John's. ICAP had you flown home as soon as you were stable enough."
"How long have I been out?"
"Eighteen days."
He tried to move and grunted. "I hurt."
She smiled. "I imagine, silly. You're like our first car. Remember that thing? Got a dozen broken bones, bruised lungs, some patched arteries, and I hate to say it, you won't be winning any beauty pageants any time soon." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "But you're alive, baby. And you're home."
She almost hugged him, a leaning touch that seared against his bandaged skin. He tried to hug her back and got as far as wiggled fingers before he gave up. "I love you."
"I love you, too. Now rest."
She stood to leave, but he stopped her with a question.
"Sakura?"
"She's fine. She's the reason they found you underneath all that rock."
"Can I talk to her?"
She kissed him through the bandage on his forehead. "You rest, baby. They been debriefing her the better part of the week, and they're fixing to do the same to you now you're conscious. Some real important people died, and they're all 'nothing's working' this and 'stuff ain't happening right' that. They tell me you're to blame, and some big time folks ain't too happy about it."
He squeezed her hand. "I am."
He closed his eyes to a silence where nothing whispered, and added one more word to the thought.
I am yours.
He smiled, and slept.
* * *
He hobbled up next to Blossom. He let go of his walker to put his arm around her shoulders as they wheeled her daughter into the operations suite. He knew better than to reassure her: without regenerates, Kazuko's cancer had returned, though it had been knocked back to what might be operable levels. Maybe.
She patted his hand, like the rest of him still covered by bandages. "Thank you for coming."
"Yeah."
"And I'm very sorry for what I did. But—"
"No, Isuji, don't. Some things you don't get to apologize for."
She said nothing for a while. "Thank you."
They stood there, not quite blocking traffic through the hospital. "When will they know?"
"They're going to start chemo either way."
"And then?"
"A month. Maybe two. There will be tests and tests. But my Kazuko, she's very strong. She will fight."
"I'm sure she will.”