I am a doctor. This thought presented itself to him from the hazy recesses of his mind. He pondered it for a moment before it went away.
He saw another bed beside him, also curtained. He took half a dozen wobbly steps to reach it. Why is it hard to walk? He looked down at his feet and saw they were bandaged. He did not know why.
He looked back up, trying to remember why he was standing here. Sophie. He pawed at the curtain.
She lay asleep in a hospital bed, red hair spread across the pillow. He could see a bandage on her forehead. She looked a dozen years older than the last time he’d seen her. And so, so tired.
He couldn’t understand why or how she was here. He didn’t even know where he was.
A few more steps, and his legs gave out. He slumped to the floor beside her bed. He pulled his knees up to his chest, teeth chattering violently. He didn’t want to move, wasn’t sure if he could. The pain in his chest was excruciating. He just wanted to keep looking at her.
He felt hands on his shoulders behind him, and someone spoke in a language he didn’t understand. Sophie’s eyes flew open, and she bolted upright in bed. Her eyes met his.
The language was English, he recalled. The person kept calling him something … Dr. Nariovsky-Trent. He vaguely realized that was his name.
He kept staring at Sophie, his body shaking from top to bottom. His chest began hitching, making it hurt even more. Something huge was trying to climb out of him, up through his chest and throat.
She lurched forward out of her bed. With the last of his strength, he reached up to her. He felt her arms wrap around him, and she lifted him. The other person vanished. The hospital vanished. The whole world vanished. Except for her.
She was real. And for the first time in nearly six months, he was warm again.
-
Michael plastered himself against her. His face burrowed down into the crook of her neck under her hair. He wrapped one arm around her ribs and slammed her tight against him. She could feel every line of his body, skeletal in its thinness.
One of his knees pushed between hers, coming to rest between her thighs. His other leg wrapped around her calf until their feet intertwined. One hand pressed into her back with shocking strength, and the other buried itself in her hair. His chest heaved with sobs and coughs, but his dehydrated body could produce no tears.
Sophie wrapped her arms around his neck and put her lips beside his ear, trying to soothe him, telling him over and over in Orlisian that he was safe. She didn’t know if he could hear her. Certainly he didn’t look at her or attempt to communicate.
A moment later, Anjali and Kathy appeared at her bedside. Anjali took a hypodermic from the nurse and lifted Michael’s hospital gown. Kathy held Michael’s thigh reasonably steady while Anjali jabbed him with the needle.
Slowly, the frenzy subsided. Sophie rocked him in her arms, crooning as the sobs tapered off. He slipped back into unconsciousness, his hands still clutching her.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” she breathed in Orlisian. “I’m here. I won’t leave. We’re together now.”
-
“Not exactly what I had in mind when I ordered bed rest.” Anjali surveyed the pretzel of limbs on the bed in front of her. She handed the empty syringe to Kathy beside her, thanking her for the assist. The nurse stepped away and left them alone. “Now you understand why we had to keep him from seeing you in the camp.”
The rattling sobs tapered off as the sedative kicked in and Michael lost consciousness. Even under sedation, his fingers dug into Sophie’s shirt, like he was terrified she would vanish if he loosened his grip.
“He’s under now. Come on out. We need to get him hooked back up to his meds.”
She wiggled out of Michael’s grasp. Her shirt was covered in snot, and Anjali sighed.
“I want you on intravenous antibiotics. You’ve just had a ridiculous amount of exposure.”