Beginning Again Ch. 06: Final

"He should make a full recovery," Beth assured her, "assuming the nurses don't smother him with a pillow first. When I came off shift they were talking about drawing straws..."

"What do you mean?"

"He woke up at eight this morning, and ever since then he's been driving everyone crazy. 'Where's Nadja?'...'call my apartment'...'call Maria'...'call the police'...'check the other hospitals'. He's been pestering the nurses pretty much non-stop all day, trying to find you."

"Really?"

"He tried to get out of bed twice. The first time he fell on his head and we had to get doctors involved to re-check his injuries, re-do the IVs, the whole thing. A huge hassle for everyone."

"Oh no! Was he okay?"

"Apparently so, because he tried it again a few hours later. This time one of the nurses caught him in the act and was able to restrain him. He's pretty weak post-surgery. So now we've got nurses keeping a near-constant eye on him in addition to making more phone calls than a telemarketing company."

The were in a stairwell now, footsteps echoing as they climbed to the second floor.

"What are his injuries?"

"I'm not supposed to say – patient privacy and all. You can ask him yourself. The docs seemed to think he'd be okay."

"Thank you for letting me see him. This really means a lot," Nadja said.

"Seriously, if you can settle him down it would be appreciated. The job's hard enough, you know? And we're getting complaints from the other patients."

"I'm sorry. I'll do my best."

Beth led her to a stop shortly after reaching Two South.

"You'll never guess who I found!" Beth crowed, the glee obvious in her voice.

"Are you Nadja?" answered another female voice.

"Good guess," Beth answered for her. Nadja began to feel self-conscious, like a minor celebrity.

"Thank God. I think I've aged five years today," the other nurse said. She didn't sound like she was joking. The two women led Nadja down another hallway and into a room.

"We found Nadja," the nurse announced as they entered.

Nadja could hear relieved muttering and sarcastic applause from the other patients in the room. To judge by the sounds, there were three others besides Mac.

"Nadja! Jesus Christ, where have you been? What happened?"

The sound of his voice – his tone one of immense relief and frustration – filled her with joy. She didn't trust herself to say anything as the nurse led her to his bedside – emotions were too close to the surface.

Instead, she reached out, searching for him. She felt him take her hand and give it a firm squeeze. She drew his hand up and kissed it gently, then decided it wasn't enough. Moving carefully, she leaned in and found his face with her fingertips, and then pressed her lips to his.

She couldn't remember the last time she'd kissed someone. Plenty of men had kissed her, of course, and she'd endured those kisses out of necessity. But the last time she'd sought a man's lips with her own? Eagerly and passionately? Never before.

She vowed it would happen more often from now on.

He kissed her back, and his hands found their way into her hair. She loved his hands on her, always warm and strong. Always gentle. She pressed against him a little more...

They were interrupted by a very loud and deliberate throat-clearing noise from behind her. Nadja pulled back, but didn't release Mac's hand. The grumbling from the other patients had become less grouchy and more amused. As a sense of time and place returned, Nadja blushed and looked over her shoulder at the nurse and Beth.

"Sorry. I was...worried," she said with an embarrassed grin.

"I can see that," the nurse said in a voice laced with sarcasm, "You've got half an hour, then we really need to wrap this up. Understood?"

"Yeah. This is great – thanks again," Mac said in an unsteady voice.

Beth pulled a chair to the bedside for Nadja, and then left the room with the nurse.

Aware that there were others in the room, Nadja leaned in close and spoke in a near-whisper.

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

"A thousand times better now that I know you're safe," he said, and the relief in his voice validated his words.

"No pain?"

"Lots of pain – but only when I move. Or breathe. What the hell happened last night?"

"You don't remember?"

"Nope. I remember leaving the Grill with you. We were going to check out Aden's apartment. Next thing I know, I wake up here with a bunch of goddamn tubes sticking out of me. They said they had to put my liver back together."

"There was a fight..." Nadja told him about their visit to Aden's building, their encounter with Gammage, her insistence on saving Isa, the fight. She also told him about the aftermath; the police, the fates of Aden, Gammage and Isa. She didn't tell him about the pictures – not yet. There would be plenty of time for that.

He was silent for a few minutes after she'd finished recounting the last twenty-four hours.

"I figured...when I couldn't remember...that there had been a fight," he said, "And today, when I couldn't find you – you weren't at home and the fucking cops were no help at all – I started to think maybe Aden had taken you again and that you needed help."

She kissed his hand again, understanding now why he'd been so desperate to find her. She should have come sooner to visit him; should have realized the fight would have caused him a memory lapse. She hated that she'd made him worry so much.

"How long until you're better?" she asked.

"They say I'm stuck here for the next six or seven days. Then I can go home, but they said I won't be able to work for a week after that, and I might not be one-hundred percent again for six months or more."

"That long?"

"Yeah."

"Mac...I spoke with Maria this morning..."

"I've been trying to call her today, but she's been out. I wanted to tell her she'd need to find another dishwasher."

She was grateful that she didn't have to deliver the bad news herself. Mac had figured it out on his own.

"I'm sorry Mac. I know the job was important to you," Nadja said. He squeezed her hand in response.

"That's not the biggest problem," he said, his voice quiet, "A cop came by this afternoon and served me a Notice to Appear. They're charging me with simple assault. Court date's in a couple of weeks. Makes more sense now that I know the whole story."

"It's not fair!" she said.

"Nope."

"We can fight it in court, right?"

"We can," he said, "but they can revoke my parole even if I beat the charge. Fighting is a violation of the parole conditions."

"I feel terrible. This is all my fault," Nadja said, suddenly gloomy.

"Yeah. Your fault that Aden's going to prison. Your fault that a little girl is getting the help she needs. Shame on you," he said pointedly.

"My fault that you got hurt. My fault that you might get sent back to prison"

"Maybe. A fair trade-off, I'd say."

The sat together in silence for a few minutes more, and she enjoyed the closeness. Nadja could feel herself drawing strength from his nearness, and she hoped she was giving the same kind of boost to Mac.

"I never told you...about Gammage. About what he did to me," she said, keeping her voice low.

She didn't want to share that part of herself with Mac. Telling the police had been awful enough, but they were strangers. Their opinions of her didn't matter very much. Mac's opinion meant everything – she couldn't bear to seem pathetic or pitiful in his eyes.

"You can tell me if you want," he replied in the same low tone, "Or not. Whatever you're comfortable with."

"It's important that you know why I asked you to risk so much to save Isa."

"I hope you didn't have to try too hard to convince me to save a little kid," he said, "I'd like to think it was an easy choice to make."

She smiled and hugged his hand to her cheek.

"You were really brave," she said.

Eventually he spoke again, and his tone was steady but resigned.

"Okay, let's get down to business. You need to contact the lawyer, get that visa application started..."

"I already called Bob. We're meeting Monday."

"Great! You also need to empty my bank account. I don't know what they did with my wallet, but I'll give you my bank card..."

"You gave it to me last night, but...you're going to need your savings to get a lawyer," she protested.

"I can get a public defender for free – not that it'll make a damn bit of difference. Plus, the hospital's going to come after that money soon enough. I don't have insurance, and this stay is going to cost a fortune."

"How much will the hospital cost?"

"Tens of thousands. So get that money out of my account and into your pocket. I guarantee you're going to need it more than they do."

Things were going from bad to worse. He'd lost his health and would soon lose his savings and his freedom. Had it been worth it?

"Okay, if you think that's best," she said. It didn't feel right, pillaging Mac's savings while he was in the hospital...or heading to prison. But she couldn't fault his logic – she would need the money. Until her visa came in, she wasn't even eligible to work.

"Good. There's maybe twenty-two, twenty-three hundred dollars in there. Take out six hundred per day until it's gone – that's the maximum you can get per day. Whatever happens to me, the cash will keep you afloat for a few months..."

"NOTHING is going to happen to you," she said, filling her voice with as much determination as she could muster. Somehow, she would find a way to protect him, the way he'd always protected her. "Look, I met a man at the police station. He says he's a reporter for The Tribune. He said maybe he could do a story on us, and it might help..."

"Forget it!" Mac said in a voice filled with derision, "It figures one of those fucking vultures would get wind of this. He just wants to make a few bucks off our misery. They're worse than the goddamn lawyers."

"You don't think that maybe, if people knew..."

"People wouldn't give a shit one way or the other. Hell, the reporter would probably make US out to be the bad guys. Anything to sell a few more papers. He probably hangs out at the police station just looking for crap like this to write about."

"I guess...you may be right," Nadja said reluctantly. A part of her wondered what in his past had turned Mac so fiercely against journalists. Whatever had happened, it had clearly left a scar.

Then the nurse came back and the visit was over. Nadja vowed to return the next day during visiting hours, and Mac promised the nurse he wouldn't be any more trouble.

As she was being led back down to the reception area, Nadja's mind worked furiously. There was no way she'd allow them to take Mac back to prison. She'd save him – whatever the cost.

***

She lay in bed. She was desperately tired; depleted physically and emotionally. Still, sleep wouldn't come.

How to keep Mac out of prison? Her brain wouldn't let her rest until she had the answer, but in her sleep-deprived state she wasn't making much headway. And that assumed there was an answer – maybe there were no options. Maybe it was hopeless. Maybe, by pressing charges against Mac, Gammage had succeeded in hurting her one final time.

A part of her mind – a small but growing part – thought she should move on. Accept that Mac was going to prison and focus on what she would need to do to stay alive until he got out. But how long would that be? His original sentence had been three years but his temper had managed to extend his sentence by a further four. What if the same scenario repeated itself here?

He could be in prison for weeks, months or years.

So should she focus on the near-hopeless task of keeping Mac out of prison or on the depressing possibility that he might be absent from her life for an extended period of time?

She ran through the options in her head, from the reasonable ones like asking Maria or Sophia for help and pleading with the trial judge to give Mac a second chance, to crazy options like sneaking Mac out of the hospital and making a run for the border.

No matter which hypothetical path she ventured down, the result was the same – Mac was in prison and she was alone and struggling to survive in a world where Gammage roamed free and might be seeking her out.

Hopeless.

Except...what if Dan Fowler had been right? What if there was someone out there who could help them, if only they knew the whole story?

It would be utter, total humiliation for her to be known to the world as a whore, and once done it could never be undone. But what if, somehow, someone read the story and decided to help? Wouldn't that be, in Mac's words, a 'fair trade-off'?

Maybe she could convince Mac to change his mind and get him to back down from his vehement opposition to the idea? On some matters she'd been able to sway him, but he could be stubborn, and if he dug his heels in that would be it.

Given how strongly he felt about the subject, she knew it was unlikely she'd convince him. He'd said no and that was that. The decision was his, and she needed to respect it and find some other way. It certainly wasn't her place to question his decisions.

Or...

Or...she could call Dan.

She could call Dan and do the interview.

She could defy Mac's wishes and ignore his heated objections. She could do the interview, bare her soul and pray for help.

Mac would hate it. He'd be angry at her, maybe furious. He'd never been really mad at her and she had no idea how it would feel or how she'd respond. Even if he forgave her for doing the interview, how would he react to the woman in his life being publicly and widely revealed as an ex-prostitute?

What other option was there? Nothing else had a realistic chance of success.

Passive obedience to Mac's wishes was no longer an option.

She would sleep, then she'd ask the building manager to read Dan's number off the business card. She'd call Dan, do the interview, and find some way to live with the shame and with Mac's anger and possible rejection.

It was a terrible plan, but at least it offered hope.

Nadja slept.

***

When Nadja arrived on Two South at ten o'clock the next morning, a nurse told her that Mac was sleeping. Still, she led Nadja to his shared room, mentioning that he'd been an absolute saint since her visit the night before. Before long Nadja was settled into a comfortable chair at his bedside, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing.

The other voices in the room were quiet; if not for the occasional cough or rustling of bedsheets, she wouldn't have been able to hear the other patients. She could almost pretend that she was alone with Mac.

She didn't wake him. Doubtless he needed rest to recover from his injury. Besides, Nadja could use the extra time to decide how to explain to Mac that she'd already phoned Dan and given her story, in spite of Mac's wishes on the matter. It wasn't a conversation she was looking forward to.

Her first call had been to the Tribune, to make sure that there was indeed a Dan Fowler who worked there. After that, the building manager had been kind enough to come up and read his number off the business card, and Nadja had interrupted his breakfast with a phone call.

He'd interviewed her over the phone, and Nadja gave him everything. She told him about her years with Aden and her night of terror with Gammage, about her escape from Aden's apartment and Mac's timely rescue.

Throughout her narrative Dan wasn't a passive listener – he interrupted frequently, digging into the details of her story, asking about her mindset and her feelings about different aspects of her behaviour and Aden's.

Nadja didn't hold back, though some of the questions took her back to places and events that she would have preferred to leave in the past. Discussing her time with Gammage had been especially difficult but she was careful to include every detail. Even when she would try to gloss over a painful memory, Dan relentlessly chipped away until he'd uncovered the specific details.

It got easier when she told him about her time with Mac, about his struggles and hers, culminating in the violent confrontation with Aden and the resulting legal, financial and medical repercussions for herself and for Mac.

It had been a long, exhausting phone call, and at the end of it Dan called it an incredible story – he couldn't wait to write it. He told her he needed to fact-check with his contacts in the police; he couldn't simply accept everything she said as the truth. There were journalistic standards.

And he insisted on interviewing Mac.

She'd explained that Mac wasn't likely to agree to an interview, but Dan asked her to try to convince him; the story would 'read' better if it included his perspective as well.

And so Nadja had wracked her brain to come up with the words that would not only diffuse Mac's certain anger at her disregard for his wishes but also convince him to participate in the very interview he'd refused to consider in the first place.

Too soon, he began to stir.

"Glad you made it back," he said in a voice rough with disuse.

"How do you feel?" Nadja asked. Her hand found his and held on tightly.

"Better. A little stronger, not as much pain."

"Do you need anything? Can I get you a coffee?"

He chuckled. "No, I'm not allowed to eat or drink anything that tastes good or makes me happy. The nurses here are sadists."

She was glad to hear the humour back in his voice; all the setbacks of the last couple of days hadn't crushed his spirits. She felt awful that she was about to ruin his improved mood.

"Well, make sure you do exactly what they say and you'll be back to eating Maria's burgers in no time."

"That's the dream," he quipped.

"It's going to happen, don't doubt it."

"What makes you so sure?" he countered, half-joking.

She sensed her opening, took a steadying breath, and dove in.

"I called the reporter this morning – the one I told you about. I gave him the whole story."

There was a dreadful silence that seemed to go on for several minutes. She knew the long pause meant he was angry and struggling to manage his reaction. There was nothing for her to do but sit quietly, hold his hand and wait for him to process what she'd done.

"You knew how I felt about that," he said, his voice low but controlled.

"Yes, I know. But I felt it was the only option. I won't lose you, Mac. I'll fight with every weapon I can find."

She heard him let out a long breath. More anger management. Nothing was said for three or four minutes. She waited.

"Okay," he said at last in a voice that was more resigned than upset, "So, you gave him the story. What did he say?"

"He said it was a good story and that he wanted to write it. But..." she trailed off, uncertain of the best way to tell him the rest.

"But?"

"He wants to hear your side of it too. He wants to interview you."

"You've got to be fucking kidding me."

"I told him to come here today around noon."

"Nadja, have you lost your mind?" Mac growled, "What makes you think I'm going to tell this guy anything?"

"Because...I'm asking you to. I think this will help both of us. I know you disagree, but I think we should at least give it a shot. Please?"

"Jesus, Nadja," he snapped, then lapsed into silence.

The pause that followed lasted so long that Nadja decided she had to re-start the conversation somehow. But how? Usually the best approach with Mac was to give him time to adjust, breathe and count. She'd never found a short-cut that worked. She tried to figure out some way in.

Suddenly he laughed.

It was such an unexpected noise that for a second she didn't believe she'd heard it. Then he squeezed her hand reassuringly and she knew her ears hadn't been mistaken.

"It used to be you'd never disobey. Even if you didn't want to do it or didn't like it, you wouldn't dare refuse." He sounded amused and...pleased?