Call Me Gray

"So, what do you want me to do?"

"Go sit at her bedside. Be there to answer her questions and hold her hand. Make her believe."

The twists and turns of Brown's fairytale played through Gray's mind as he stepped back into the hall, turned and entered the hospital room. Larger than any other hospital room he'd ever seen, Mr. Gray eyed the pricy, comfortable furnishings with a bit of disdain. Somehow it all seemed like pretty adornments meant to hide the coffin hidden beneath- a way of cloaking the truth of how close the patient really was to death. He took a seat and closed his eyes to contemplate.

--------------

"Mr. Butler?"

A woman's voice woke him several hours later and he straightened up in the easy chair to take in her features in the low-light provided by the bedside lamp. It was Miss Rose, leaning close to him, dressed in a nurse's uniform.

"What?" Gray asked, sounding confused.

"I'm sorry to wake you, sir. I realize how late it is, but...your wife is awake." Miss Rose straightened, moving aside to clear his view of the bed where the bandages nearly hid the questioning eyes of the patient.

Gray slipped from the chair, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. He pushed away the lingering fog in his mind to begin putting his cards into play. "Hey," he said softly to her in a greeting meant to convey familiarity.

Wet, almost panicked eyes stared back at him; and slowly her lips parted to allow words to escape. "She...says you are my...husband," the woman, now known as Amanda Butler, said.

He nodded, trying to balance his expression between reassurance and fearful longing. "The doctor says you can't remember everything, but it's all right."

"My name is Amanda?"

"Yes."

"I was...in an accident?"

"Car crash," he affirmed.

Her gaze shifted around, taking in what she could of the room before settling back on his features. "You were hurt too," she said, lifting the cast on her right hand and arm just enough to show that she was indicating his healing eye and forehead.

"I'm all right," he said quickly, touching his bandage for just a moment before resting his hand on the blankets at her hip. "You are the one we're going to worry about."

A long silence followed as she studied his features and used her one good hand, the one with the I.V., to touch his chest, arms and face. He guessed she was searching for a hint of familiarity, a sensual memory, triggered by the feel of him. He made himself relax and accept this exploration. Finally, her hand fell back to the blankets. "You have beautifully deep eyes," she said.

"I think you've told me that before," he said, covering the lie with a tender smile.

Amanda didn't smile, but her eyes were less panicked. "She didn't tell me your name."

"Grayson," he said, "but you usually call me Gray."

"It's nice to meet you, Gray," Amanda said, ready now to offer him a weak smile. "Mind if I go back to sleep for a while?"

"No," he said, "I don't mind at all." He stood and helped straighten her blankets before joining Miss Rose in the doorway. The nurse-in-disguise led him to the adjoining room where Brown was lounging in an easy chair by the observation glass.

"Not too bad," Brown said to Gray. "You were sensitive without being too affectionate."

"Do you have anything important to tell me, or did you just want to critique the performance?" Gray asked evenly, feeling the return of his fatigue in that moment.

Brown moved on, accepting, but not internalizing Gray's anger. "You've got a hotel room reserved for the next couple of nights in Wellman. Mr. Green will meet you there with your new identification and credit cards. Try not to charge too much."

"I know this game far better than you do, Brown," Gray said. He looked through the glass at the settling form in the hospital bed. "Are you sure it worked?"

"You have doubts?"

"I don't know. Maybe she is a better actress than I am an actor."

"Then don't act," Brown advised. "Use the story, but go on instinct, and be sincere."

"If you know so much, why didn't Black choose you for the husband, Brown?" Gray asked with a scoff.

"Because I'm the therapist and my job can't be faked."

Gray stared at him, wanting to call him a pompous ass, but not finding words eloquent enough to not sound bitter. Instead, he walked out and headed to the hotel.

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"What's it like?" Amanda asked him several weeks later during his daily visit to the hospital. The doctor's were hoping to release her soon and Gray had been preparing her for that transition.

"The house?"

"Yes."

"It's big...and empty," Gray said factually as he finished dealing out the cards for another round of solitaire.

Amanda, now free from the majority of her bandages, chuckled and pushed some of her long, dark hair behind her ear. "What are we going to fill it with?"

"Stuff, I guess," he said, moving the first card. "You always had better taste than I did."

She hesitated, using the time to move some cards. "What was my favorite color?"

"You had more than one," Gray said. "Why? What color tickles your fancy now?"

With a shrug, she looked around the room then over at the vase of wild flowers he'd brought her earlier in the week. "I don't know...anything bright, I suppose- anything but white."

This comment made him look up from the cards. He studied her expression, seeing what might have been a hint of distress fleeting through her eyes before being replaced with the warmth of her emerging smile. "OK, if you don't want white, looks like we'll have some painting to do around the house then."

"Is there a lot of white?"

"Oh yeah," he said with a nod, "almost everywhere."

"You don't mind painting?"

He shook his head, still manipulating the cards on the small surface of the table. "I'll even let you pick the colors."

Gray left the hospital at his usual time, when Amanda went in for her therapy session with Brown, feeling more distracted than usual. Instead of returning to the hotel or checking in with the office, he drove into Lake Ridge to take another tour of the house. He was only a few steps inside the front hall of the ground level's open layout, when he realized that the house had even more white than he'd remembered. Of course, he wasn't certain if Amanda's dislike for the color had anything to do with her interrogation at the agency, or just her time spent at Pinewood- either way, he planned to keep his promise and do some painting.

When Gray returned to the hospital the next morning, a sense of purpose guided him through the hallways instead of a flat obligation to his job. Though he certainly wouldn't have recognized it right out, spending time with Amanda was getting easier. With the bandages off and her bruises fading, memories of their first encounter prodded at his thoughts. Yet, she clearly didn't seem the same woman in light of the circumstances.

"Gray, what's all this?" Amanda asked as he deposited a stack of paint and furnishings catalogs on the table beside her upon entering the room.

"Inspiration," he responded with a small shrug. "I'd like to have something done with the house before you arrive."

She smiled and reached for the top-most magazine. "You really don't have to worry about that. I know the place needs work. I'm going to be very helpful."

"You are going to need rest," Gray said, sitting on the edge of the bed and looking deeply into her gorgeous green eyes. When she couldn't quite avoid his stare, she chuckled and sat back against the pillows.

"How did I get so lucky to end up with a husband like you?" she asked tentatively.

He shrugged. "I did make you work for it," he said, feeling a bit unsure as he deviated from the script written up by Brown. Instead of him chasing her, he'd just implied the opposite, which was truthfully more like his personality than the fictional Grayson Butler, whom he'd been ordered to play.

"Oh, you did?" she asked, again chuckling. "Was there a lot of competition to win your love?"

"No, not really," he said, acting as if he was embarrassed to make the admission. "I'm a recovering workaholic. You are my constant intervention."

It was getting time to switch the subject as Gray knew he was moving too far into his own life experience. Even if Brown had told him to go with his instincts while interacting with Amanda, he still felt like he had to be able to distance himself from her at a moment's notice. He just couldn't let himself enjoy this mission more than was necessary to get it done.

He looked away from her, letting his eyes drop to the magazine in her hands and tried to switch gears in his mind and get back into character.

"Hey, hon, don't look like that?" Amanda said, reaching out to touch his cheek and pull him back to reality. "You don't have to feel guilty for anything that has happened. I'm still here."

It took a lot for Gray to keep his composure. Her words were eerily touching, even though she didn't know the truth of things. "I put you in this situation," he said honestly, lacing the words with the tone of an anguished, regretful husband. "I can only imagine how frustrating this has all been. You must have a thousand questions and, yet, you only ask me a few at a time, if any."

Somehow, she seemed to expect this show of emotion, as if she'd been waiting for days for it to make an appearance. Placing the magazine back with the others, Amanda scooted across the top of the bed to sit beside him and take his hands in hers. Her eyes searched his features before she said, "There might be a lot I don't remember, Gray, but I know your beautiful eyes. They were familiar to me almost instantly."

He contemplated these words and once again doubted his appointment to this mission. "You are putting a lot of trust in me."

"Why shouldn't I?"

"Things haven't always been great between us," he said, again feeling the strain of adding too much truth to his words.

"You can't dwell on a past I don't remember," Amanda said. "Why beat yourself up over something I'll probably never use against you."

"Dr. Brown is certain you'll remember someday."

She nodded, thinking deeply and choosing her words with care. "Then I think we should work on building happy memories. If that day should ever come and I do remember, these days in between will count for something."

After a long silence, during which Gray mentally sorted through the mess he'd made of the situation, Amanda pulled over the magazines and started to go through them with him. They let the awkwardness of the past minutes fade as they shared opinions and ideas about colors and furniture styles. In fact, they got so involved in the project, that it was a couple of hours past his usual departure time before Gray even thought to look at his watch.

"Wow, I should be going," he said. "You need to rest and now I have some colors to work with."

Amanda's smile fell as he left the bed and began to collect the pages they'd torn from the catalogs. "I suppose if you really need the distraction," she said sadly.

Gray looked at her, noting the expression and tone. He realized that she didn't want him to leave. Though he'd never seen this reaction from her before when he'd left, it was obvious, from the intensity of her current look, that she'd felt similarly before now only managed to hide it.

He dropped the magazines onto the bed and reached out to gently touch her face. Various comforting statements slipped through his mind, but he knew well enough not to use words in a moment like this. She needed affection, devotion, a sign of being wanted and desired. Gray lifted her chin, his dark eyes penetrating her electric green orbs as he leaned closer, taking his time to build the anticipation of their first kiss. Their warm lips met, pressing together in modest uncertainty. He felt Amanda shiver, or perhaps it was a fearful tremble. He reached out to gather her in an embrace, quickly finding it difficult from his standing and her reclined positions. So, he pulled back instead, meeting her gaze again.

"I don't want to hurt you," he whispered, hoping his tone and expression would seem truly conflicted.

Amanda was still trembling as her hand touched his chest, gliding over the top of his dress shirt. Her eyes moved from his, looking everywhere, but at him. Her torment was evident and sincere. The first two fingers of her hand slipped past the buttons to part the cloth and contact his flesh. Then, slowly, her eyes moved back to him. There was purpose and fear in them as she softly begged, "Please take me home, Gray. I want to be with you in our new house."

There was a twinge of something, a phantom of an emotion that squirmed in his chest, near his heart. Was it sympathy, longing or just recognition of the power he wielded over her?

Gray reached for the bedside phone, bringing it to his ear, but never taking his eyes off Amanda.

"Yes? Do you need something?" Miss Rose said sweetly on the other end of the open line.

"Get me Brown," Gray said in his best authoritative, yet not emotionally charged tone. He saw and felt Amanda tense, reacting to the change in his demeanor. He rested his free hand over the top of hers, lightly caressing it in a reassuring manner.

"Can I tell him what this is about?" asked Miss Rose tentatively.

"I'm taking Amanda home," he said.

With uncertainty, she replied, "I see." Miss Rose knew as well as he that this was not part of the plan. "I will page him."

He hung up the phone, taking his eyes off Amanda only long enough to get the handset safely back in its cradle. She was attempting to smile, but kept holding off the expression for reasons he couldn't ascertain.

"Did I do something wrong?" he asked gently, pulling up a chair to sit as close to her as his long legs would allow. "Isn't that what you wanted?"

"Yes. Yes," she assured him, nodding her head. She attempted to pull her hand back from under his shirt, but he caught her wrist and took possession of it with in the strong grip of his own hands. "What if he doesn't think...?" she began, but chose not to finish.

"I'm taking you home," he promised, "whether he likes it or not."

--------------

"What is the difference of a few days?" Gray asked Mr. Brown in the observation room just off of Amanda's room.

"I don't think she's ready," Brown replied. The doctor was already worked up into a huff and the conversation had barely started. "You can't expect to know what she needs. She is still basically a stranger to you."

"I think Amanda knows what she needs," he countered. He was forcing himself to stay calm and logical. Either Brown would follow suit or he'd eventually realize that his theatrics weren't swaying Gray's opinion in the least. "She wants out of this hospital."

"Of course she does, but you are missing my point. I don't think she's ready to deal with you full time or the outside world for that matter. She is fragile."

Gray shook his head, slow and deliberately. "No, she isn't," he said with confidence. "Have you forgotten what she truly is, Brown? My bruises have faded, but I remember."

Brown looked offended that Gray would make such an accusation. "I think she's attracted to you," he said, pushing up a bit on his toes as if the added height gave greater weight to his words. "She's confusing lust with what she thinks is a spark of marital recognition."

"So what if she is?" Gray shrugged. "We have to build this lie on something."

"Sex? I thought you weren't interested in that. Or, has she so easily drawn you in with her feminine wiles?"

If he'd had a gun in his possession right then, Gray easily might have used it on the pompous, portly psychologist. Luckily for Brown though, he was unarmed and quick to deflate in his anger. "Your arguments and attitude are highly unprofessional," he pointed out, turning away to move closer to the viewing window. In the room beyond, Amanda was watching television, but she didn't look to be noticing the images that danced across its screen.

"I'm not asking for your advice or permission," Gray said coldly. "Either you can be supportive of this move or risk tarnishing your relationship as her therapist."

"You expect me to condone this when I know it will come back to bite us in the asses; and that's not fair, Gray."

"Deal with it." He turned back from the glass, putting the intensity of his eyes to work in helping make his point. "I have a job to do; and most of it relies on me having her complete trust. I'm supposed to be her devoted husband. That means I do everything in my power to make her happy and comfortable."

"And what if the game changes?" Brown said, looking overly pleased with the speech he was about to deliver. "What if happiness and comfort doesn't work to get us what we need from her? Will you be able to shift gears, apply emotional pressure and possibly even make her hate you?"

"Yes." It was an automatic response. Gray knew his duty to the agency. If Mr. Black walked in the door right then and ordered him to kill Amanda, he would do it without hesitation. "I'm not new to this job. I've had to do a lot of questionable things to get where I am."

Brown looked unimpressed. "What happened to you not being skilled enough or willing to take on this task?" he asked. His joy at throwing Gray's own words back at him was evident in his stance and pudgy features.

"You can't wound me, Doctor. You are completely unthreatening to the likes of me. This is my assignment. I will complete it to the best of my ability for the agency. Then I will move on to the next. Nothing about her or you will affect me in any way."

Now Brown was shaking his head, an amused expression brightening his face. "You're only proving my suspicions. The more you insist on your infallibility, the less credible you become, Gray. That woman is getting under your skin."

"You're wrong."

"Then prove it. Walk in there and tell her she can't go home with you yet. Take back your promise." He shrugged. "You shouldn't have a bit of trouble doing that, right?"

The desire to hurt Brown returned. Gray's jaw clenched as he tried to smother the anger that being mentally out maneuvered had ignited in him. He should have seen the reversal coming. Now he had a reputation to maintain, no matter what it did to his relationship with Amanda. "Fine," he tried to sound unaffected. "How hard do you want me to be on her? Shall I make her cry? Would that demonstrate my devotion to this cause, even if it proves damaging to our long-term goals?"

After a few moments of consideration, Brown shook his head. "No. Instead, I want you to leave...without an explanation. Let her sit all night, wondering what happened and why you didn't do what you promised."

"What is that going to prove?"

"That you're in the right mind to do this job."

Uncertainty plagued him. It was cruel to just abandon her. No caring husband would do such a thing. There had to be a balance between the roles he had to play. Suddenly he couldn't contain his anger any longer. "You are wasting my time and sabotaging this project!"

"I am making a point," the doctor said, not visibly intimidated by Gray's blowup. "If you cannot distance yourself, Gray, then you're not capable of handling this mission."

"This is not what she needs. That is the point I am trying to make," Gray insisted. "She needs me to be the rescuing husband. She needs strength and you want me to seemingly chicken out."

"Yes. That is exactly what I'm asking."

"Why?"

"You know why."

The anger was so stifling it was a miracle Gray reached the parking lot without losing the strained calm on his features or the pace of his calculated stroll. He pulled the door open on the Cherokee, climbed in and managed to not slam it shut. He focused his mind on getting back to the house. He wouldn't slow down and actually think about the heated conflict within his own being. He slipped the key into the ignition, the engine turning over with a symbolically angry roar and drove out of the lot. He ignored posted speed limits, his eyes not even acknowledging the speedometer, thankful his route would not bring him to any stop signs for several miles yet.