By Lacy

I catch up to them as the elevator door opens and they wheel her inside. The ride to the third floor and its twisting hallways takes longer than expected, but a Radiology technician is waiting for us when we arrive.

I'm told the entire process could last up to an hour. For an image of the brain, it shouldn't take quite as long, but if she becomes combative or generally uncooperative, or just moves too much, then we could be her a while. I watch through a large picture window as she's placed on the chamber's pallet.

Speaking through a microphone, the technician reminds her to remain as immobile as possible, even though she's hardly in any condition to make sudden movements. The mechanized pallet glides slowly into the imaging chamber, which lights her face with a harsh glow.

"Sagittal T-1 scan in progress," announces the technician.

The equipment is noisy when the scan begins. The sound of loudly thumping metal can be heard even through the thick walls and acrylic windows. It must be terribly frightening for her.

"She's moving," the tech declares.

"Donna," Clements says into the microphone. "Put your hands down."

If anything his command makes her increase her movement, and I can see that she's trying to cover her head with her hands.

"Damn," the tech curses. "We're going to have to sedate her." He glances unhappily up at Dr. Clements.

Sedate her? She's only just woken up. "Excuse me?" I point to the microphone. "May I?"

Clements nods permissively to the tech, who slides a chair over so that I can sit in front of the microphone. I clear my throat gently, before speaking into the mike.

"Donna, it's me. They need you to be still. If you can't be still they're going to have to start all over again, and I know you don't want that. I know it's loud, but it'll only last for a little while longer. Just try to relax. Relax, Donnatella."

"She's calming," the tech informs me, as his fingers begin to fly across the keyboard of his computer. After a few minutes he makes an announcement. "Beginning axial T-1 scan sequence."

"You're doing great, Donna," I cajole. "Just hang in there."

The minutes drag by and the clunking noise from the MRI chamber increases before the tech speaks again. "Axial T-1 complete. Beginning axial T-2 weighted sequence."

As the final scan winds down, another doctor, a neurologist, slips into to the room and leans over the computer monitor, conferring with Clements. I stand from the chair and listen unobtrusively to the doctors.

"Patient’s pregnant?" asks the neurologist, taking the chart from Clements.

"Hence the MRI, instead of the CT. She presented with non-penetrating head wounds — deep scalp lacerations. She was hypothermic and bradycardic. External contusions suggest that she took the hardest hit here," Clements points on the monitor.

"Nope," the other doctor contradicts. "Temporoparietal looks good. I don't see any evidence of ICP or hemotoma. She was pistol whipped?"

"Several times, by the looks of it."

"That's one hard head," the neurologist comments, wryly.

"You don't know the half of it," I mumble.

"Mr. Lyman?" Clements turns to me. "I’m sorry, this is Dr. Hayward. He’ll be handling Donna’s case from here on out."

"Josh Lyman." I shake the new doctor’s hand. "She's always been stubborn and willful," I say. "I just didn't think that would mean she'd have a skull of steel. She's really going to be okay?"

"Looks good," Hayward nods. "Amazingly good, actually. Of course, with any blunt trauma to the skull, she has a hell of a concussion that we’ll have to keep an eye on." The three of us pivot to watch the two Radiology nurses carefully place Donna back on the gurney. "We'll do another MRI in forty-eight hours to see if there's any clinical deterioration, but I think she'll make a full recovery."

"Thank you, Doctor."

"I'm having her admitted to the ICU for the next twenty-four hours so that her condition can be closely monitored. I'm also going to call in an OB consult." Hayward indicates that he has temporarily executed his duties and heads for the door.

I think the worry must be evident on my face, because Clements raises a single eyebrow as he studies me. "Sometimes people…their determination to survive," he begins. "Sometimes they surprise you. It’s always a good day when I can be surprised. Today was a good day," he says.

"It's not even noon, yet," I remind him, rubbing the exhaustion from my eyes with the fingers of one hand.

"Well, I've been on for twelve hours," he excuses. "Try not to worry too much, Mr. Lyman. This is where I get off -- I have to get back to the ER."

I hear the door click gently closed as he leaves, but my eyes are transfixed to the computer monitor with the image of Donna's brain on the screen.

"Josh?" Sam pokes his head in the door. His eyes scan the room as he wonders if he is allowed to enter. "What did the doctors say?"

I meet him at the door, stepping out into the hall as I launch into my explanation of the doctors’ findings, as I understood them. "She’s still going to be in ICU, at least for twenty-four hours."

"So, no brain damage?"

"Nothing she won’t recover from."

"That’s a relief."

"Yeah."

"Josh," he holds up a set of keys. "I had Cathy order you a rental. It was delivered a few minutes ago. The Corvette’s been impounded for evidence, so it’ll probably be weeks before you see it again."

"If I never see that car again, it’ll be too soon. I think I’ll sell it -- get a nice, safe minivan, or something. Something without a trunk."

"I hear you."

"Thanks for the car. It hadn’t occurred to me that I might need one."

"Sure. Look, Josh, I know you’ll want to spend some time with her after she’s been admitted, but you really need to get some sleep."

"So do you, Sam. As I recall, I dragged you out of bed at three o’clock this morning."

"I’m good," he waves me off. "Besides, I’d already had two hours of sleep before you called."

"Would that be two whole hours?"

"I can take it," he smiles. "I’m much younger than you are."

"Hey!"

"Truth hurts, Josh."

"Much younger?" I fire back.

"Okay…younger."

"Nine months!"

"Whatever."

I laugh, for the first time in…I can’t remember when, and it feels good. He grins brightly, and I realize that was his intent with his well-placed jibes -- to bring me out of my gloom, if only for a few moments. My brief laughter fades, and so does his smile.

"The police will probably be by later," he informs me tentatively. "They’ll want to document the severity of her injuries for evidence. If you want, I can set up a time with them, and be here when they do it. Afterwards, you could go home and rest for a while, and I’ll keep watch."

"You’ll stay with her?"

"Yeah."

"Okay," I relent. "I could use a shower."

"Yes, you could," he agrees. "And a nap — at least."

"Don’t push it."

"Okay. I’m going to head back to the office now. I’ll page you when I know something."

"Okay."

"Later."

"Yeah. Later." I watch as he strides away at full speed, his purpose set in mind.

Later, in the ICU, the consulting doctor Hayward called in performs an ultrasound on Donna. The sound of the moving fluid fills the room and the doctor patiently answers my questions and points to the things I can’t quite make out with my untrained eye. When I’m not asking her questions, the obstetrician makes notations on Donna’s chart.

"Is that the heart?" I ask. The fluttering light and shadow thrills me and terrifies me at the same time. "It’s so fast," I hear myself saying.

"I know it looks that way, Mr. Lyman, but it’s really not," she informs me. "In fact, it’s borderline low."

"Borderline?" She must see a lot of these.

Well, considering what the mother’s been through…." she trails off. "Frankly I’m surprised there’s a heartbeat at all. Normally, I might attempt a transvaginal ultrasound, but in her condition I don’t think that would be wise." She pulls me aside. "Look, Mr. Lyman, quite frankly, at this stage of gestation there’s very little I can do to prevent a miscarriage. If it’s going to happen, it’s going to happen. We just need to give your fiancée more time to recover before it does. I’m sorry," she finishes as an afterthought. She hands the chart over to the ICU nurse before exiting the room.

I drag a chair up beside Donna’s bed and sink into it, taking her uninjured hand in mine. She’s been placed on an EKG to monitor her heart rate, and the nurse takes her blood pressure every fifteen minutes. As per normal concussion protocol, Donna is not allowed to sleep for long stretches of time. Every hour, the nurse prods her until she comes around long enough to answer the simple questions designed to test her mental acuity.

When she sleeps, I talk to her in soft tones. Nothing important, really. Inane topics just to let her know that I’m here. Her hand in mine is chilly, and occasional bouts of tremors pass through her body. I’m told that’s not unusual for hypothermia patients. This room is filled with beeps of all pitches and volumes, each one broadcasting a different message to the nurses that watch over her.

But over them all, I recall the fragile flutter of our baby’s heart – a magic spell that weaves its way around me. I don’t think she knows about the baby. I don’t think she even suspected. Everything moved so quickly in the last few weeks that it’s entirely possible she didn’t notice any changes.

And in a moment of anger I nearly lost them both.

I am more determined than ever to make sure that it never happens again. I am unwavering in my purpose to rebuild all that I so thoughtlessly tore down. I knew when she raced off into the night, that I could never get her back. That the crimes I had committed were unpardonable — and maybe they still are. But then, she could walk away without looking back and disappear from my life. That was then, this is now.

This child she carries holds me to her with bonds that go beyond love and promises. It is a foundation built upon flesh and bone. The creation of a life conceived in love — a physical manifestation of my heart to hers. A cornerstone for reshaping our future.

And if my love for her were not enough to secure my purpose, our child would be. They call them the ties that bind, and bind they do -- not in any objectionable way, you understand, but in a way that makes us…family. Now, we are bound by blood, and that will hold me to her for all time.

I just hope it’s enough to hold her to me.

The End