Nothing's Ever Easy

Author: Janet (SkyGirl5)

Genre: S/V, AU

Summary: Sometimes just because someone lives through something, it doesn't mean they survive.

A/N: This is the sequel to That Summer

Disclaimer: Sydney, Vaughn, etc are properties of JJ Abrams and ABC.

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

Prologue + Chapters 1-10 // Chapters 11 - 14 + Epilogue

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

Prologue

Sometimes just because someone survives something, doesn’t necessarily mean they live through it. A strange concept, I know. It sounds ridiculous and impossible and if I hadn’t had a first hand experience with it, I wouldn’t have believed it either. ‘Survive’ and ‘live through’ seem to be synonyms, don’t they? Well, that’s because they are, in the physical sense anyway, but just because someone’s still breathing and their heart is still beating, doesn’t mean they’re the same someone.

You see, sometimes when a person had brain surgery or an aneurysm or another brain-affecting medical incident, their personality changes. I’m not sure if there is a medical explanation for this, and most likely, even if there was, I wouldn’t understand it anyway. All I know is that it happens; it happened right before my eyes.

For some people, they were once very timid or shy and then they become very outgoing and talkative. Others used to be sweet natured people but turned… well, I wouldn’t say mean, but less sweet. Still others went from outgoing to timid and any other type of personality switch you could think of.

When someone’s personality changes so, it’s very difficult for everyone involved. They’re the same person physically, but it doesn’t seem that way because a personality is who that person really is. So, in a way, it’s like they’re a different person; like part of them – their old personality – died and a new one was reborn in it’s place.

This change, though not the fault of the now different person, causes great strain on the people who knew them the best. It’s hard to understand, hard to deal with. You become conflicted. On one hand, the person you loved and who you though was dying is alive and it’s wonderful, but its not the same person.

Personality shifts have caused the break up and/or stress of many relationships and families. It’s hard; I know first hand just how hard it is. It’s one of those things that are so hard some days you just want to give up because you can’t take it anymore. You want to give up, but you don’t; you can’t. But sometimes, on the better days, a glimmer of what that person once was shines through and then, in that moment, it all becomes worth it.



Chapter 1

It’s amazing the things that go through your mind when you’re waiting for someone’s death to be announced. Seriously, very random things. When was the last time I ate? I wonder how many speckles are on this tile floor? Did anyone ever count how many licks it took them to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop? See, very random.

I had parked myself in the corner of the surgery floor’s waiting room. Other families came and went; I stayed not even knowing how many hours had passed. For the first half hour, I was on complete and total edge. Every time the door would swing open, I’d nearly jump out of my seat. I was convinced it was Dr. Jamison coming to tell me that Sydney had died the moment he opened up her skull, or the moment he touched her brain matter. It was never him, though. It was always another doctor or another family coming in. Still, I was convinced it would be only a matter of moments before he did come in.

Somewhere between letting Sydney’s hand slip from mine and taking a seat in that waiting room, I lost all my faith. Maybe it was the looks the nurses gave me as they walked past; maybe it was just the harsh reality sinking in. I don’t know what it was, but my faith was gone and I sat there cursing myself. What had I done? I had sent Sydney to be murdered essentially all because of my selfishness. She wasn’t going to make it through the surgery; she would die within a matter of minutes. I was horrible. I could have had two, maybe three more days with her, but no, I had to be selfish and horrible and send her into brain surgery. Stupid.

At the one-hour mark, a nurse came by and brought me some food. I picked at it, since it was pushing twenty-four hours since I had last eaten, but I didn’t each much. For starters it was hospital food – yuck. Secondly, I wasn’t really all that hungry. I was still in that ‘numb’ area of existence.

Another forty minutes passed and I began to plan. I really had nothing else to do, really, so I started organizing things in my head for Sydney’s funeral. Incredibly morbid, I know, but all my hope had gone away; I was left with reality and it sucked. I thought Sydney might like a funeral in a church and, because of my prior encounter with the minister downstairs, I had realized that churches weren’t so bad. I decided she needed lots of white, peaceful flowers and maybe I’d give a speech… maybe.

Sitting there, I realized that I was probably the closest thing to family that Sydney had at that moment and, for the first time, I realized why she had left me everything in her will. We were alone in this world, our parents gone; all we had was each other. Now, all I had was me.

As I was thinking about funeral arrangements, a horrible thought hit me: hospital bills. How expensive was brain surgery? Surely it was a figure I couldn’t even fathom in my wildest dreams. That was… bad, definitely bad. Sure, I’d make some money selling her father’s house (which was already on the market), but it wasn’t like Liberty had the highest real estate values in Alabama. Not even close. The mortgage was paid off, so the profit might have been thirty, maybe forty thousand if we were lucky, but no more than that. Something told me that would barely even put a dent in the hospital bills Sydney was wracking up with each passing second.

As one hour faded into three and then three into five, I began to wonder, what was going on back behind those shiny ‘do not enter’ doors? Was Sydney still alive, her brain open on some operating table? Or was she dead, long dead and the doctor was just too afraid or too… something to come and tell me?

The hours wore on and a bit of my hope slowly returned. If she was in fact alive, wouldn’t the surgery be almost over? How long did it take to remove a tumor slightly larger than a golf ball from someone’s brain? I had absolutely no idea, not even the slightest clue, but obviously it was going on six hours.

Eventually, my thoughts wore me out and I fell asleep in that chair in the waiting room. I was so sick of waiting. It might sound bad, but it was true. I was sick of waiting for them to come and tell me it was over. They tried but, sorry, no-can-do. If it was going to be over than just tell me damnit! I just wanna know. Life, however, doesn’t work that way and things need to play out as they’re meant to. I didn’t understand that then, but I understand it now.

I awoke to a nurse shaking me gently. “Wa? Whasit?” I mumbled sleepily.

“Dr. Jamison will be out in a moment to speak to you Mr. Vaughn,” she told me before walking away.

I sat up, rubbing my hands over my face, trying to wake myself up. I squinted down at my watch and saw that it was nearly midnight meaning Sydney had been in surgery for over seven hours. The ‘do not enter’ door creaked open and I saw Dr. Jamison approaching. His face looked drawn, his scrubs were dotted with patches of sweat and he was pulling off the multi-colored cap on his head. Just get it over with, I wanted to shout. Just tell me; don’t drag it out with all that ‘we did everything medically possible’ crap.

“Sit down Michael,” he said, gesturing towards the seat I had just vacated. I sat, but I think the sitting was more for him than for me. “When we got in there we found exactly what we had expected – that the tumor was surrounding her brainstem. We did our best to remove it without damaging the viable part of the stem as well as the surrounding tissue…,” he paused and took a deep breath. Here it comes…

“We were able to remove every visible part of the tumor. In my opinion we got it all,” he told me.

Wait a second… “So…,” I began slowly, my voice barely above a whisper. “So… she’s alive?” I asked. Surely this couldn’t be… could it? Before taking her into surgery he had told me that she wouldn’t survive this… this was… impossible.

“She made it through the surgery,” he said. I let out a choked breath and the doctor continued. “She’s got a long road ahead of her Michael, and is by no means out of the woods yet. She’s in a medically induced coma to minimize the brain damage the surgery may cause. See, the brain doesn’t like it too much when we mess with it, so it might swell, which could be very dangerous.”

“But… she’s alive…” I said in total disbelief.

“She is,” the doctor said. I looked up at him and saw that, much to my surprise, he actually looked very emotional. “I…I never would have thought this was possible. By all medical explanation she should have died… this truly is a miracle.”

A miracle… or… was it an answered prayer? Maybe it was both, but at that point I had no idea. “Can,” my voice came out harsh and barely audible so I cleared my throat, “Can I see her?”

Doctor Jamison nodded before standing and leading me though the doors to the post-op recovery room. Sydney was in a corner, surrounded by machines monitoring everything on her body. There was a breathing tube down her throat, forcing precious oxygen into her lungs. Her entire head was wrapped in white gauze though a few tufts of her dark hair protruded around the edges.

Cautiously, I sat down beside her and I picked up her hand. I held it to my face and felt its warmth. I needed to do that, just to make sure she really was there, alive. I kissed her hand gently and then I started to cry. I cried with relief, with fear, with sadness and with uncertainty for the days to come. For the first time in my life I really, truly cried and I didn’t even care that the entire post-op recovery room was watching me do this. I had my Sydney and that’s all that mattered to me.



Chapter 2

I’m not sure how long I cried, holding Sydney’s hand tightly in mine, but at some point, I must have cried myself to sleep, or stopped crying and fallen asleep from pure exhaustion. I’m not sure; all I know is the next thing I knew I was waking up with my head resting against Sydney’s waist, my hand still clutching hers.

I sat up slowly and looked at her, really looked at her. My eyes were still dry and painful since I had been crying, so I blinked hard a few times, and then began to study her face. Though she looked slightly pale, she was still breathing and that was really all that mattered at this point. “She’s a fighter, this one,” a soft voice to my left pulls me from my thoughts. I looked and saw a nurse probably not too much older than myself coming to check on Sydney. “Yep, she’s a fighter – a lucky one too. She’s got somethin’ special.”

“Yeah,” I said softly, my voice crackling. I cleared my throat and asked, “What time is it?”

“’bout seven thirty,” she said, glancing down at her watch. “Honey you should go home, you’ve been here all night.”

“No,” I said firmly. “I need to stay with her.”

The nurse sighed, walked over to me and gently rested her hand on my shoulder. “I know you do, but she’s not goin’ anywhere. You need to go home and sleep in a bed for a while. You’re just gonna make yourself sick hangin’ ‘round here for the next week while she’s in this coma and if you plan on doin’ that I’m gonna have to call security on ya,” she said in a more playful than serious manner.

I was hesitant to go. What if… well, what if something happened and I wasn’t there. “Come on,” the nurse continued. “You won’t do her any good if you waste yourself away to nothin’. Go home, eat, and sleep. You can have the phone number for this here room and you can call to check on her as long as you promise not to do it every half hour, alright?”

“Alright,” I sighed, knowing that she’d never let me stay and I really wasn’t in the mood to be escorted out by security. I stood up and leaned over towards Sydney’s face, meaning to kiss her. Of course, this was a problem because between the bandage on her head and the respirator in her mouth, there wasn’t much free space to kiss. I managed to kiss her right underneath one of her eyes before whispering, “I’ll be back. I love you,” into her ear.

The nurse watched me as I left the post-op intensive care room. I made my way towards the elevator and had just pushed the ‘down’ button when I realized I had no way to get back to Liberty. I debated my options (which were minimal) for a moment, before deciding the best course of action would be to call Alex once more. I hated bothering him, but, really, he was the deputy sheriff in a small town what else did he have to do. It’s not like Liberty was a crime center or anything.

I called Alex and he told me that coming to pick me up would be no problem. Of course, it was still a two hour drive, so I had time to kill. I went back upstairs to the post-op room and the moment I walked in, the nurse I had just been speaking to gave me a hardened look. “I’m leaving!” I defended quickly. “I just have to wait for someone to come pick me up.”

“Oh,” she said. “I’m Alice by the way.”

“Michael Vaughn,” I said, extending my hand.

She shook it and asked, “So where are ya’ll from?”

“Liberty,” I told her. “’bout two hours south of here.”

“Never heard of it…”

Of course she hadn’t heard of Liberty. The only people who had either lived there or had family who did; no one else. I just gave her a shrug and walk back towards Sydney’s bed. I sat beside her, stroking her hand, for about an hour and a half before I said goodbye once more and went down to wait for Alex by the hospital entrance. He arrived about fifteen minutes later and I hopped into the front passenger seat of his car, thanking him immediately for coming to pick me up.

“’s no problem,” he said in his always slow and even tone. “Sydney’s not commin’?”

“No,” I said quietly. I sat there, absentmindedly watching the scenery pass by as we drove, wondering if I should tell Alex the truth. I sort of wanted to keep it just between Sydney and I, at least for the time being. She didn’t want people to know before, so, presumably that hadn’t changed. But, on the other hand, he deserved some sort of explanation, especially after he heard what I had said to the nurse the previous morning.

As we drove, I noticed Alex looking over at me occasionally to study my face. I must have been a real sight. I hadn’t really eaten in twenty-four plus hours, my only sleep was in a very uncomfortable position plus the stress and the fact that I had cried for at least an hour if not more. I bet I looked terrible.

“Is… is Sydney going to be alright?” he asked cautiously.

I looked away from him and sighed truthfully, “I don’t know.”

“Oh,” he said. His tone was short. We sat in silence for quite some time before he spoke again. “I didn’t tell nobody about yesterday… not ‘bout what I heard anyway. ‘Course they all asked me where I took ya’ll but I just said to the hospital, nothin’ more. I didn’t tell ‘em which one of ya needed it or what was wrong… didn’t think ya’d want me to.”

“Thanks Alex,” I said sincerely. That was the absolute last thing I needed, to go home and find the whole town camped outside my house, just waiting to hear what happened. Of course, they’d probably do this anyway, but at least Alex hadn’t contributed to it.

I looked over at Alex and saw that he actually looked rather sad. I felt guilty for not explaining further, so I took a deep breath and, before I knew it, my whole story had spilled out. I told him about how Sydney told me the truth about her tumor a few days after she arrived in Liberty and how she wanted it to be kept secret. I told him how I told her to stay and how she had fixed up my mama’s garden. Then I told him about the previous day, how she had collapsed and how the doctors had given her only a few days to live. Finally, I told him how I had convinced her to have the surgery that should have killed her, but, shockingly, may have actually given her a second chance to live.

When I was finished, he gave me a long look; so long, in fact, that I was beginning to worry about the fact that he wasn’t focusing on the road in front of us. “That’s… somethin’,” he said finally.

“Yeah,” I sighed. Boy was it ever.



Chapter 3

Alex and I were silent for the rest of the ride back to Liberty. There wasn’t much that could be said after explaining what was really going on with Sydney. When he dropped me off at my house, though, he promised he wouldn’t say a word to anyone in the town about what I had confessed to him. I thanked him for that, and the ride, before going inside.

I went directly to the kitchen, knowing that if I didn’t eat something then I probably never would. I forced myself to eat half a sandwich before I went upstairs and showered. After my shower I managed to drag myself to my bed, having never felt more exhausted in my life. I crashed into the sheets and grabbed Sydney’s pillow, hugging it tightly and smelling the sweet scent of her shampoo on it as I drifted off to sleep.

I slept for almost five hours, much longer than I wanted to. I wanted to make it back to the hospital around lunchtime, but I slept right through that. Immediately after I woke, I called the phone number Alice, the nurse, had given me. Another nurse answered the phone and told me in a rather annoyed tone that Sydney’s condition hadn’t changed and that I wasn’t allowed back to visit her until at least five o’clock that evening. This, of course, didn’t make me happy at all, but I thanked her anyway, not wanting to be banned from the post-op room entirely.

It was barely one, which meant I had two hours to kill before I had to start driving. I was in no mood to do anything, least of all write my next article (thankfully it wasn’t due for another three days), so I grabbed the other half of the sandwich I made earlier and retreated to the couch to watch TV.

The TV distraction doesn’t work and I end up jumping the gun a bit, leaving my house at two forty-five. I hit a traffic snarl on the way so I arrived at the hospital at exactly five o’clock; perfect timing. I raced inside and went straight to the steps, taking them two at a time, which caused me to be breathing heavily when I reached the post-op room. There, much to my horror, I found that the bed that had earlier held Sydney was now occupied by someone else.

I ran to the nearest nurse and asked for Sydney’s location. The nurse informed me that she had been moved to a different floor to the more permanent intensive care area, where she would remain until she was removed from her medically induced coma. With this news, I took off running once more, this time going down a flight of stairs. I reached that floors nurses’ station and exhaled, “Sydney Bristow’s room,” to the nurse behind the desk.

“Room 508,” she responded while pointing me in the proper direction. I power-walked my way there and, when I arrived, I found Dr. Jamison checking up on Sydney. He smiled at me.

“Boy, you’re late. They told me you’d be here at five on the dot. It’s five-oh-three,” he said with a grin.

I cracked a small smile at this before asking seriously, “How’s she doing?”

“Fine, she’s doin’ just fine,” he told me. “When she’s in a comatose state like this, things won’t change too much. That’s the point of the coma – keep her as stable as possible while she’s recovering.”

“So,” I began cautiously, not sure if I wanted to ask my next question. “So… there’s a chance she might… be okay?”

He shook his head slightly and patted my shoulder. “Son, it’s far too early to tell. Just take it one day at a time. There’s one thing though – do you know if she has a living will? You know, someone to make medical decisions for her?”

“Um, yeah, that’d be me,” I said. That was the reason Sydney had me sign her will a month ago; it gave me the power to make medical decisions for her if she wasn’t in a state to make ‘em for herself.

The doctor nodded, he seemed to have been expecting this. “Why? Do I need to… do something?” I asked.

“No, no, not exactly. ‘s just… well, this is a very rare case and I’d like to use it to present at a medical conference this fall. ‘Miracles in Science’ is what it’s called and I think this would be a perfect case for me to use with yours’ and Sydney’s approval, of course.”

I shrugged. Sounded fine to me. “Yeah, sure, go ahead,” I told him. He gave me a nod and a ‘thank you’ before leaving Sydney and I alone.

I walked over to her beside and pulled up a chair, where I sat down. I took a moment to observe the new room she had been placed in and found that it was actually nice, as hospitals go, that is. It was a single room with a tiny bathroom and even a TV mounted high on the wall, though it still had that antiseptic-like hospital smell.

I reached out and picked up Sydney’s hand from its spot resting on the mattress. It felt slightly chilly, so I held it to my face to warm it up. “You’re still doin’ good, right Syd?” I asked quietly. Sure, I knew she couldn’t answer, but they always say you should talk to coma patients, just incase they could hear you.

“You gotta get better Syd, you just gotta, okay? ‘cause you know, you and me, we’re only twenty-seven. We got so much livin’ left to do, you know? Come on Syd, you made it through the surgery so you gotta make it through this okay? You can do it, I know you can. I’ll be right here, I promise. I’ll be here… well, until they kick me out, which they’re probably gonna do, but I’ll always come back,” I told her while holding her hand against my face.

I continued to clutch her hand as I sat there in silence wishing and praying that she’d make it through.



Chapter 4

The week following Sydney’s surgery was physically painful for me. The worst part was the not knowing. Every second I wondered if I was going to get a call saying that she had slipped from her coma into death. She wasn’t getting worse. In fact, she was remaining stable, but still, getting that call was the thing I dreaded most.

The floor where Sydney was staying had special visiting hours, different from the rest of the hospital. The hours were five pm to eight pm only. No other times. Unfortunately for me, they were very Nazi-like about enforcing these visiting hours, leaving me with lots of free time.

For the first day I moped and sulked around. Stupidly, I decided to walk downtown to Dobson’s. Well, it wasn’t like I had a choice really; I needed groceries. The moment I walked into the store a hush fell over the room. Of course, I expected nothing less. Shockingly, though, no one said a word to me. Not one word. All they did was stare as I slowly picked out my needed food items and then took them to the cashier. I paid for my things and left, knowing that the faster I was gone the faster they could start whispering about what was wrong with Sydney and why she had disappeared. Eventually they’d all find out, but, wistfully, I hoped it would be years down the road.

After moping, I realized that I needed to have some purpose in my life for me, for Sydney and for the future. In anticipation of astronomical hospital bills, I began looking for another job, keeping in mind that I’d still be spending a lot of time with Sydney because, most likely, she’d need my help when she was awakened from her coma. I used my other interest in life, baseball, to obtain a position writing commentary for an online sports magazine. This, of course, meant I actually had to start watching some games again (I had been forgoing them to spend time with Sydney), but that was okay.

In addition to looking for a new job, I kept up with the one I had by writing a bunch of articles in advance so just incase something drastic came up again I’d have some buffers. After working on my articles I went out and watered Sydney’s garden just like she asked me too. I was concerned at first about watering them too much and killing them by drowning, but luckily, since we were having such a dry summer, the chance of that was rather slim.

Every evening during that week I went to the hospital. I’d leave my house like clockwork, at two forty-five on the dot. Sometimes I’d be a little early, rarely was I late, but it all depended on traffic. I’d sit by Sydney’s bed faithfully for those three hours I was allowed to per hospital policy. I’d always talk to her a bit, tell her what was going on, tell her that I loved her and that she was going to make it, going to be okay. I’d also make sure all her pillows were fluffed the right way and that she was laying in a comfortable position. Sometimes I’d bring something to read, other times I’d turn on the TV on the room – always to a show or a movie I knew she’d like though, never to baseball; she didn’t like it.

On the eighth day after Sydney’s surgery, I was sitting by her bedside around six pm when the doctor came in. We shook hands and exchanged pleasantries like we had before he got right down to business. “Well, we’ve been monitoring Sydney’s brain and for the past few days there haven’t been any signs of swelling or abnormal activity, so we’d like to take her out of the coma.”

“Really?!” I asked, excitement very evident in my voice.

He gave me a single nod. “Yes. I’m stopping the drug right now so it should take about half an hour for her to come around,” he said. Then, he walked over to one of the many IVs dripping precious liquid into Sydney’s veins and removed it. I sat down on the chair beside her bed, grabbed her hand and poised myself, ready to be the first thing she saw when she opened her beautiful eyes.

In the following minutes I checked my watch approximately every thirty seconds, begging a half hour to pass quicker. At twenty eight minutes and fifteen seconds, Sydney began to stir and I pressed the nurse call button like I had been instructed to do. My heart rate soared off the charts as I grasped her hand tighter and moved closer to her, begging her to awaken.

Slowly, her eyes opened and she began looking up at the ceiling. It was obvious she was being half choked by the breathing apparatus still down her throat, so I was begging for the doctor to arrive as quickly as possible. I began stroking her hand and arm, pulling her hand close to my face. After a moment, this caused her to look at me and lock eyes with me. I was too affected by my emotions to utter a word at that point; all I could do was kiss her hand and try my hardest not to break down into tears.

I didn’t get a chance to say anything after that, though, because Dr. Jamison walked in the room and asked me to step back so he could examine Sydney. He checked her pupils and blood pressure before painstakingly removing the respirator. She choked and sputtered as the nurse gave her a cup of water to sip.

The second Dr. Jamison stepped back from Sydney’s bed, I was at her side once more, stroking her cheek. She stared up at me for a moment looking almost in disbelief. “Michael,” she croaked. Though her voice sounded slightly haunted it was the most amazing thing I had ever heard in my life. “Am… am I dead?” she asked.

“No,” I managed, shaking my head. Then, I leaned down and gave her a long kiss on the cheek. “No, you’re not dead, you’re not…”

“Welcome back Sydney,” Dr. Jamison said as he walked around to the other side of Sydney’s bed. “Your surgery went well.”

“My… my tumor…” she croaked, her eyes welling with tears.

“…is gone,” the doctor finished for her. “You’re not suffering any side affects from the surgery as far as we can tell. We’ll know more in twenty-four hours, but if you progress at this rate you might be able to go home by the end of the week.”

With that hopeful comment I could no longer hold back my emotions and a few tears slip down my cheeks. She might have been coming home. At this momentous thought, Sydney, too, began to cry. The doctor excused himself, saying he’d give us a few minutes alone before visiting hours are over.

“I’m okay?” Sydney croaked as more of a question than anything else, sounding as though she wasn’t quite sure she should believe it.

“You’re okay,” I told her before kissing her lips softly. “Well, I mean you’re bald…”

At this she cracked a small smile, but shook her head, obviously upset by this. “I’ll get you a hat,” I assured her.

She nodded and wiped a few stray tears from her cheeks. “I love you.”

“I love you too Syd, so much,” I sighed. Those three words had never sounded better to me. Gently I wrapped my arms around her back, holding her closely. She wrapped her arms around my back and I began to rock her gently.

We stayed in that position until the nurses made me leave by threat of a forceful removal. I left, giving Sydney a long kiss, and promising to be back the moment they let me. Leaving the hospital that night, for the first time, I was smiling and I knew that things were going to be okay; they just had to be. I had Sydney back and she was never going to leave again.



Chapter 5

There are some mornings when you wake up never feeling happier to be alive. That’s how I felt on Tuesday, the morning after Sydney was awakened from her coma. I had never been happier to be alive and, more than that, I had never been happier that she was alive. The sun was shining, the skies were clear and it was going to be a beautiful, perfect August day.

I leapt from bed that morning and showered, grin never leaving my face. I’m convinced that had someone shoved a light bulb in my mouth it would have lit up purely from the energy I was feeling. Unfortunately, I had about eight hours to kill before I could actually see Sydney and my energy level wasn’t very conducive to patient waiting. I would have gone for a run to pound out some of it, but, being that it was about a hundred and ten degrees outside, I probably would have keeled over before making it half a mile, which would have been bad - very, very bad. So, I resorted to cleaning. I cleaned everything from top to bottom, giving the whole house a through scrub down. Boy would Sydney and my mama have been proud of how clean the house became.

My cleaning frenzy lasted me until lunch and then I was stuck with nothing to do. I busied myself by catching up on the latest baseball stats and watching some game replays until two thirty. At that point, I went out to the garden and snipped off a few tulips to bring to Sydney to brighten up her room. Then, I promptly left my house hoping the hospital would take pity on me and let me see Sydney a few minutes early.

When I arrived on the floor Sydney was residing, the nurses (who by that point knew me by sight) informed me that she had been moved to another floor – one that didn’t have such stringent visiting hours. Infuriated, I took off running in the direction of her new room, where I skidded in just as Dr. Jamison was arriving. “Just getting here?” he asked, obviously amused.

“Didn’t… tell me… she moved…,” I panted.

“That’s because she just was about twenty minutes ago,” he said, laughing at the fact that I was out of breath, probably.

I walked into Sydney’s room and found that, much to my surprise, she was standing by the window. She saw me and her face lit up. I walked over and wrapped her in my arms, holding her body as closely against mine was possible while being mindful of the IVs and the bandage still around her head. I gave her a kiss, but a brief one since the doctor was standing right there, before asking her how she was.

“Good,” she responded simply.

“She’s making wonderful progress. If she keeps going like this she’ll be out of here by Friday,” Dr. Jamison told me.

“REALLY?!” I asked in a voice a bit louder than I should have used.

“Yes really,” he said. Then he told Sydney to lie back down on her bed so he could examine the incision on the back of her head. She did as he asked and I had to look away at the sight of her mangled looking scalp covered in dried blood and clamped together by staples. I’m not squeamish, I’m really not, but that really freaked me out, mostly because it was Sydney and all.

“These look good,” he said. “They should come out tomorrow morning.”

He spoke with us a few more minutes about Sydney’s recovery and the medical miracle conference where he was going to present Sydney’s case since she had agreed. Then, he left. Once he was gone, I sat down by Sydney’s side, scooting my chair up close to her bed. I took her hand in mine and kissed it, which caused her to smile. “How ya doin’?”

“Good,” she nodded.

“Yeah? You’re walking okay?” I asked; she nodded again. “I- OH!” I groaned. “I brought you tulips, but I left them in the car.”

“’sokay,” she shook her head.

“No, no I brought them special from your garden. I’m gonna run down and get ‘em okay? It’ll only take me a few – five minutes tops,” I assured her. She nodded and I kissed her forehead before leaving.

I’m not sure how long it took me, but I must have broken some sort of record running down to the parking lot and back. When I reached Sydney’s room I was completely out of breath but clutching the tulips firmly in my fist. She actually giggled when she saw me. I’m sure I looked like a complete wreck, mostly because I was covered in sweat. “Here you are, my dear,” I told her once I caught my breath.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

I placed the tulips in a little cup by her bedside before sitting down. “I got a new job,” I said. She looked curious so I continued, “Yeah, it’s writing about baseball and stuff, just for fun.” Okay, so it was a lie, but just a little white one. Writing about baseball was more fun that some of the other writing I did, besides, Sydney didn’t need to worry about our finances; she only needed to worry about getting better.

She gave me a partial smile before she crawled out of bed and slid into my lap, trying to curl up as much as possible though the IVs were in the way. I held her close, reveling in the warmth of her body around mine.

I didn’t know it then, but that moment was where my summer began to take another turn. I think I was too blinded by the ecstasy and pure miracle of the fact that she was actually alive, breathing and speaking to me when, by every medical explanation, she should have been dead. I didn’t notice it, not until later, but that was the moment when I got back onto that rollercoaster. I had been fooled into thinking that the ride was over, when really I was just beginning another steep accent up to a plummet that would send me reeling. That summer was an endless rollercoaster for me, filled with highs and lows. Just when I thought it was over, just when I thought I was moving towards one direction it would yank me back in the complete opposite one, nearly killing me on the way.

So I sat there and I held her tightly, not knowing what the next days would bring, not even caring really, just glad that she was there, holding me back.



Chapter 6

For the rest of the week I didn’t really leave the hospital. The rollercoaster was coming on faster and faster, I didn’t notice it quite yet, though. Because of the more lenient visitation on the floor Sydney was moved to (10 am – 7 pm), I had planned on spending the majority of my day with her, however I quickly realized I had to spend… well, all my time there.

It seemed that every time I would try to leave, Sydney would become practically hysterical. She was perfectly fine if I ran to the bathroom or ran to get some food, but then she knew I’d be back within a matter of five or ten minutes (in the case of the food), but if I mentioned anything relating to me leaving for the entire night, she’d burst into tears. Of course this concerned me, but I was mostly concerned with the crying aggravating her healing process than the actual reasoning behind the crying. At that point, I rationalized it by reminding myself how stressful the past week had been for us all. That combined with the fact that she nearly died and that she was in a large hospital full of no one she knew, it really was no wonder why she was crying. I’d have almost been crying… hell, I did cry.

So, every time Sydney would burst into tears I’d cradle her in my arms and promise her that I wasn’t going anywhere. Tuesday evening was terrible because as seven pm drew nearer, I was more and more concerned that I’d be force to leave and then… well, I didn’t even want to comprehend Sydney’s reaction to that. Luckily, through some creative hiding in the bathroom during the nurse’s rounds, I was able to stay the night with Sydney cramped up in the chair beside her bed.

On Wednesday morning, I calmly told Sydney that I needed to go home, shower and change, which unfortunately would take four to five hours. She told me it would be fine, because it was the daytime and there would be lots of people. Plus, she had a few appointments with doctors that morning, meaning she’d be busy. So I went and I was gone close to five hours before I returned and when I did, she clung to me fiercely, asking me not to go for that long again. Luckily, I had anticipated this and brought a bag along with me, intending to rent a room in a neighboring hotel room, not that I thought I’d be sleeping there, but I needed a place to shower and change.

Wednesday night I thought I had been made for a nurse caught me tucking Sydney into bed around eight pm, an hour past my designated leaving time. She didn’t tell me to leave though and it wasn’t until later when she pulled me aside and explained why. Apparently, in my five hour absence that morning Sydney had been incessantly asking for the time and calculating how long I had been gone and how long it would be until I returned. The longer it was, she became more and more agitated, so they decided it was best I stay with her and rationalized it by saying it was medically beneficial for her recovery for me to be there. I didn’t care what they said, though, as long as I got to stay.

Wednesday night I managed to get a few hours of restful sleep curled up in Sydney’s hospital bed with her clinging to me. Upon attempting to roll over in my sleep state, though, I forgot where I was and ended up falling out of the bed and smacking my elbow on one of her heart monitor machines. Luckily, the machine didn’t go off nor did Sydney awake, but my elbow really hurt.

On Thursday morning, I left Sydney and went to the hotel room I had rented to shower and change. Then, when I returned, Dr. Jamison was taking her to have a head scan to check on the progress of her healing skull and brain. I tagged along and was amazed at the technology used to get a view of Sydney’s head. He said that her bone was healing well, along with the incision, and because her brain was functioning well, she would, indeed be able to go home the following afternoon, as long as someone was there to watch over her (which, of course, I was).

This was phenomenal news for us. I knew that once Sydney was out of the hospital and more relaxed at my house she’d recover even quicker. Even still she was making wonderful progress. Her walking was a bit shaky and uneven, but Dr. Jamison said that had more to do with the medically induced coma than the tumor removal. Any medical issues the tumor had been giving her were gone and she wasn’t suffering any coordination issues. She truly was a miracle case, and that’s what the nurses called her every time they’d come to talk to us. Sydney never said much to them, which at the time, I didn’t really notice since I was babbling non-stop, not even really giving her a chance to say anything had she wanted to. It was a miracle though, something I had no trouble acknowledging. Whether it was a freak incident that had resulted in a miracle or my prayers had been answered, I wasn’t really sure, I just knew it had happened and that was all that mattered to me.

“You ready to go home tomorrow?” I asked Sydney on Thursday night as I was tucking us into bed. She sighed and nodded with a small smile. “What’s the matter? You’re really quiet.” That was the first time I had mentioned it, or noticed it really. I had expected her to rattle off about how she couldn’t wait to go home and fix the damage I had done to her garden. Or how she was dying to take a shower (which she really couldn’t do quite yet) or sleep in our bed. But she said nothing.

“No,” she shook her head slightly. “’m just tired… and ready to get out of here,” she mumbled as she tucked her head into my neck (which she could do because her large bandage had been removed that morning). This answer satisfied me and I kissed her forehead gently, wrapping her up in my arms.

I was definitely read to get out of there, but I definitely was not ready for the impending reaction of Liberty when we made our grand return.



Chapter 7

Friday morning was filled with endless and anxious waiting for Sydney and I. All we wanted to do was get out of there, but the doctors were waiting for some last minute test results. Finally, at one pm, Sydney received her release papers and a nurse wheeled her out to my car and I helped her inside. She seemed happy to be going home, though she didn’t really say anything about it. At that point, though, I began to worry slightly about her since surely she should have been chattering on about finally leaving the hospital, right?

I tried to tell myself that maybe she was just tired, but I knew better. After all, I had slept beside her the previous night and it was I who got little sleep, not Sydney; she was out like a log. Despite this, I truly did think that things would be better once we were home. I only wish I had been right.

Sydney slept for most of the ride home. I don’t think she was in a deep sleep, but she was dozing in and out with her head rocking against her seatbelt and the head rest behind her. Occasionally, I’d reach over and rest my hand atop hers, which were resting in her lap. It took about two hours to get home and when we arrived I parked as close to the door as I could. “Syd, we’re home,” I whispered to her. At the sound of my voice, she began to stir.

I climbed out of my seat and quickly rushed around the car to help her inside. I opened up her door and helped her slide out, and then I guided her with a firm hand towards the house. The stairs were a small struggle for her, so I slipped my free arm under her thigh and scooped her up. She didn’t protest until we were in the kitchen, where she insisted she could do it herself.

“I just don’t want you to tire out,” I defended.

“’m fine,” she mumbled. I rolled my eyes slightly, stopping myself from reminding her that she had something removed from her skull not two weeks earlier. Then, I helped her to the couch and handed her the remote, forcing her to occupy herself there while I carried our things in from the car. She assured me that she’d be fine while I accomplished these tasks and so I left her.

With each trip in from the car I checked on her and found her bouncing around through channels, watching something different each time I checked in on her. Finally, everything was in from the car and I threw in a load of laundry, washing the clothes I hadn’t gotten a chance to. Then, I returned to Sydney on the couch. I gave her a long kiss on the forehead before sitting down beside her and swinging her legs into my lap. “How ya doin’?” I asked her with a bright grin.

She shrugged. “Okay… I’d like a shower though,” she said quietly. “I feel dirty,” she added with a grimace.

I couldn’t help but laugh softly at her expression. “Well, you can’t take a shower quite yet. Remember Dr. Jamison told us you shouldn’t get your incision wet until Sunday, okay? But you can take a bath as long as we keep your hair out of the water.”

“Okay,” she agreed as she went to slide off the couch.

“Come on I’ll run it for you,” I said, helping her to a standing position. I didn’t want to make it seem like I was forcing help on her, more like I was offering. In my mind that would offend her ego less. For, even though Sydney had appeared to be changed slightly, she still wasn’t willing to have someone else do anything for her, nor are many other people I suppose.

I helped her upstairs and she leaned up against the counter while I readied the bath water. She pulled her hair atop her head with a clip and then shed her clothes so I could help her into the water. She was still a little shaky, but getting stronger each day, which was very reassuring to me. I made sure she had all of her soap and razor within reach per her request before I left to find her clothes to put on after her bath.

As I walked down the hall away from the bathroom, I tried to shake the image of her now worn body from my mind. The signs of being bed-ridden in a hospital for almost two weeks were evident. Sydney had always been a thin person, so the week of not eating solid foods was visible in her protruding rib cage and slightly sunken cheek bones. In addition to that, her arms were covered in bruises from the numerous times she had been stuck with a needle, either to feed an IV into her veins or to draw blood out of them.

When I returned to the bathroom with her clothes, Sydney was shaving her legs and muttering about how ‘disgusting’ they were. I couldn’t help but laugh at this. She was horrified, but it wasn’t like there was anything she could have done to change it while she was in the coma. “Thank god no one saw me like this,” she sighed quietly to herself.

As I sat there, keeping her company in silence as she continued to bathe, she asked me to help her wash the ‘gross hospital smell’ from the ends of her hair. I agreed, for I knew how the smell of the disinfectant they had used was bothering her. Using a wet washcloth I cleaned the ends of her hair as much as I could without getting too close to her incision. Then, I dried it well with a towel so that the wet hair wouldn’t wet her scalp and thus the incision.

Once out of the tub and dressed, Sydney examined the shaven part of her hair using two mirrors to get the best view possible. From the expression on her face it was obvious she was unhappy with it (not that she would have been thrilled) so I told her, “It looks fine Syd. When your hair is down you can’t even see it.”

She looked unconvinced, but it was the truth. It would have taken close examination to see that her hair was slightly thinner on one side when it was down. Otherwise it was unnoticeable. The hair was even starting to grow in slightly. Of course, it would probably take a year until it matched the length of the rest of her hair, but it was better than nothing.

I waited while she brushed her teeth and finished primping herself before I took her back downstairs, sat her in the kitchen and began to make our dinner. I tried to coax some conversation out of her while I was doing this, but she didn’t seem interested. She’d only give me a few words, at most a sentence, in response and then return to silence. This began to frustrate me, so I gave up and we ate our meal in silence except for Sydney thanking me for the best meal she had eaten in two weeks. Of course I told her she was very welcome.

We retired to the couch until about nine, when Sydney was beginning to fall asleep. I carried her upstairs and once she was settled I went downstairs to finish up some things before I, too, went to bed. Lying there, I pulled Sydney tightly to my body, silently thanking god for saving her and silently praying the next days would be better.



Chapter 8

Saturday morning I stayed in bed until Sydney awoke. I didn’t want to leave her alone just incase she needed me. I helped her down the stairs and she sat in the kitchen while I made us some eggs. “What do you want to do today?” I asked her. She said nothing. “You want to sit outside in the garden a bit? It’s not supposed to be too excruciatingly hot out today.”

“Okay,” she agreed quietly. I sighed slightly and turned my focus back on the skillet of eggs in front of me. My delusion that Sydney would snap back into her chatty self at any moment was beginning to fade.

We ate and Sydney went upstairs to change out of her pjs, that time by herself. I let her go, but I watched her go up the stairs, ready to bolt up them if she needed my help. She didn’t and I returned to the kitchen to wash out the skillet I had used. Once finished, I went upstairs and changed my own clothes before following Sydney down the stairs. I didn’t hold onto her waist like I had been doing but I stayed close behind her just incase. She did well, though, holding onto the hand rail to guide her.

Outside it was almost blindingly bright so we both donned sun glasses as I filled up a watering container for her to use. “They look good, don’t they?” I said, referring to the blossoming flowers. I was concerned that since I had spent a week up in Birmingham not watering them they would have suffered, but they hadn’t. This was probably was because a hurricane was passing through the gulf the previous week causing lots of rain in and around Liberty.

“Yeah they do,” she said. She took the watering container I held out to her and began sprinkling various flowers with precious water, occasionally crouching down and pulling out a stray weed that had grown.

“You really did a spectacular job,” I said, still trying to encourage more conversation out of her. All I got was a soft smile as she looked at me over her shoulder. I filled up another watering container and began watering the flowers further away from the house.

About five minutes into our watering session I heard Sydney yelp in pain and, naturally, I about had a stroke. I threw down the watering can in my hand and charged towards her, jumping nearly five feet up and over the flower beds separating us. “What is it what happened are you alright?” I asked frantically.

“Just a bee,” she said casually, holding out her hand. “I’m fine.”

“You were stung,” I said, taking her hand gently in mine and examining the red puncture mark.

“Michael, it’s fine. I was stung like ten times while planting these things. I don’t react to bee stings at all,” she said. I gave her a wary look but she gave me a half smile and a nod, pulling her hand from my grasp. She then continued to water. I returned to my spilt container of water and, just as I was picking it up, I noticed someone walking around the back of the house. Uh oh.

“Syd,” I said quietly, walking quickly towards her. She looked up to me with a furrowed brow. “May Weston is coming. What do you want to do?”

“I-” but she was interrupted by a very high pitched,

“Michael, hello! Sydney, darlin’ how are you?”

I turned slowly and plastered a fake grin across my face. “May… what are you doing here?” I didn’t even bother to hide the tone of slight annoyance in my voice when I said this.

“Well, I haven’t seen ya’ll around town here for about two weeks now and I was just wonderin’ how you were doin’,” she explained in a sweet tone.

“We’re doin’ fine May, just fine,” I answered. We were doing fine… comparatively anyway.

“What about you Sydney? How are you?” May asked, turning her sweet smile toward Sydney.

Sydney reached up and pulled her ponytail over the side if her head that was partly shaved as she said quietly, “I’m fine… excuse me.” Then, she set her watering container down and walked quickly towards the house. Completely disregarding May, I followed her and grabbed her arm lightly just as she disappeared into the house, giving her a questioning look. “Tell her whatever you want, I don’t care,” Sydney said before slipping her arm out of my hand and shutting the door softly.

“Is everything alright?” May asked, through her tone wasn’t as sweet as it usually was; it was obviously filled with concern.

I sighed and turned around slowly, figuring that I might as well get it over with. Otherwise Sydney and I would only be faced with questions for the next… well, forever. “No, not really,” I told her. May’s brow furrowed. “Sydney has-had,” I corrected quickly, “a brain tumor.”

“A… what?” May gasped, her hand creeping towards her face as she took a step back. It was obvious she wasn’t expecting this as an explanation. Then again, how could she have?

“A brain tumor,” I repeated. “’s been there for… don’t know how long, but ‘s why she didn’t go to her daddy’s funeral; she was in the hospital. The tumor was right next to… an important part of her brain. It was killing her.”

“My god…,” May exhaled a long breath. “She’s… dying?”

“No,” I said firmly. “The doctors in Birmingham performed surgery to remove the tumor. The surgery should have killed her, but it didn’t and now…she’s expected to make a full recovery,” I told her with a slight shrug.

“Well that’s a miracle!” May exclaimed, the smile returning to her face.

“It is,” I nodded. “But May,” I continued, lowering my voice, “Sydney doesn’t really like to talk about it, so if you could not bring it up…”

“Absolutely, not a problem. My lips are sealed,” she assured me before pursing her lips together tightly. Sealed riiiiight; I believed her. More like I believed the entire town would know as fast as May’s stubby legs could carry her into town, where she’d start shouting it across Main Street. Everyone would know within the hour.

“Thanks May,” I told her with a smile.

“Of course darlin’,” she said, squeezing my arm gently. “Now if there’s anything I can get ya’ll you’ll just let me know, alright?” I nodded my head and waved to her as she walked quickly around the other side of the house, bound for Dobson’s I’m sure.

I cleaned up the watering containers before I went inside to find Sydney on the couch, reading. I kissed her head and sat down beside her, sliding her into my lap. She looked up and gave me a little half smile before turning back to her book, not saying one word. I nuzzled my face into the back of my head thinking, hoping that if the worst was supposed to be over, that meant it had to get better… right?



Chapter 9

For the next week, I became increasingly more frustrated with each passing day to the point where I was convinced I would just loose it at any moment. Sydney wasn’t talking anymore than she had ever since she woke up from the coma. In fact, she was barely speaking at all. Rarely could I get more than a sentence out of her, actually, I think that only happened once. She kept to herself, read, either inside on the couch or out in the garden, at least for the first few days. Then, another hurricane passed through and we were both house-bound. I worked on my articles, or at least, I tried to, but I was increasingly distracted by her.

It wasn’t just her talkativeness, or lack there of, that was different. It was everything. She never kissed me anymore, not really anyway. Not that I had expected her to pounce on me or anything. After all, she wasn’t ready for any strenuous activity, but she rarely kissed me period. She made it a point to kiss me gently every night before we went to sleep, but aside from that nothing. I was used to her coming up to me and giving me kisses periodically throughout the day, but this was no more. Even when I tried to kiss her, she seemed to end our kiss quickly.

She still hung around me, though. It seemed her clinginess had increased slightly. If we were sitting side by side on the couch, she’d always pull my arm around her, which she didn’t do as often before. Also, when we were sleeping, she seemed to cuddle more than she had.

The other change, one that wouldn’t have been noticed by anyone other than me I suspect, was in her eyes. When I looked into them, something was missing. There was a spark, a flicker… something that was there before but now was gone. This is what upset me the most. I loved that spark; that spark was what made me love her. It wasn’t the only thing, of course, but it still made me love her.

A few times I would ask her why she was so quiet or why she wasn’t saying anything and she would just shrug, saying it was nothing or that she didn’t know. And the thing was I believed her. I knew it wasn’t an act she was putting on because, for starters, she wouldn’t have kept it up so long knowing it was bothering me. Also, she wasn’t upset with me, I knew that. Something had happened to her somewhere in between her leaving my side right before her surgery and when she woke up one week later. Something had happened… but I wasn’t sure what.

In addition to our home life being different, things between us and the town had changed as well, however, this change I had expected. Sydney didn’t go walking out to Dobson’s with me when I was picking up our groceries. For starters it was too hot and I didn’t want her to over exert herself and also because she really didn’t want to deal with the vulchers waiting to pounce on her and ask her millions of questions. She didn’t say this, of course, it was simply understood. After all, I didn’t want to face them either.

That first time I went into Dobson’s after revealing to May Weston the truth about what happened to Sydney I was met with dead silence. As I picked out my groceries, though, one buy one they approached me, offering their well-wishes and offers for help should we need it. I thanked each of them but told them that we were doing fine, at least for the time being. “She’s in our prayers,” they told me. “And we’re glad she’s getting better.”

“Thanks,” I said to them. Then I left with my packages, bound for home.

~*~

Living in silence was really beginning to affect me by the end of that first week I had her home. Every day I’d have to fight harder and harder not to shout out ‘would you just say SOMETHING! ANYTHING!’ I couldn’t, though; it wasn’t her fault.

Finally, after we had been home for ten days, I was the closest I had ever been to loosing it. Sydney and I were on the couch one evening when I began to kiss her. It wasn’t one of those kisses that would lead to us shedding our clothes in approximately two point five seconds either. It was just a nice, sweet, simple kiss. After only a moment, though, she pulled back and rested her head back on my shoulder, obviously not wanting to continue. That’s where I started to loose it.

“Syd, what’s the matter?” I asked her.

“Nothing,” she responded.

“No, seriously, Syd… I mean, why don’t you want to kiss me?”

“I just kissed you.”

“No, Syd, not really. We haven’t really kissed since that night you woke up from your coma. I just… I mean… is there a reason? Do you not… do you not want to be with me anymore?” I asked quietly. That thought had never crossed my mind until that very moment and when those words escaped my lips I was terrified that her answer would be yes.

“No, of course I want to be with you. I don’t want to be anywhere but here,” she assured me.

I was waiting for a further explanation from her, but one didn’t come so I asked, “Then what is it?”

She lowered her eyes and slid away from me on the couch. “It’s just,” she began quietly. “I was worried… worried that if I kissed you… then we’d… and last time…last time we did I collapsed and-”

“Syd,” I cut off her sob with a tight hug and a gentle kiss to her temple. Thank god something was making sense. “Syd sweetie no, that’s not going to happen again. It can’t happen again, remember? Your tumor’s gone.”

“I know but,” she sniffed.

“No buts,” I told her. “It’s not going to happen again, but it’s okay, you know? We don’t have to do anything until you’re ready, besides Dr. Jamison told us we need to wait at least until your next check up anyway, okay?” She gave me a gentle nod and then moved her head back to my shoulder.

~*~

I thought that incident would make things better, but it didn’t. Sure, she kissed me, but she was still just as quiet as ever. It took me another few days to come to a heart-wrenching realization. The Sydney Bristow I knew and loved was gone; she didn’t exist anymore. She had vanished along with the tumor removed from her brain. This new person I had wasn’t the same. She looked the same, kissed the same and felt the same way when I held her close, but she wasn’t the same person and that was something I had to figure out how to understand and live with.



Chapter 10

In the days after my realization that Sydney wasn’t Sydney anymore (not quite anyway), things were actually better for me. I made it a point to wake up and tell myself not to try and force her into being something she wasn’t. I didn’t think of her as the ‘old’ Sydney nor did I coax her into being anything she was not. I also coached myself into not comparing her current actions with those of the previous version of her. I simply took her as she was and, much to my surprise, I liked what I saw.

Though she didn’t communicate verbally, there were many other ways for me to understand her. For example, I spent an entire hour one day studying her facial expressions as she read. I found that I could read her expressions much like I was reading a book myself. Her brow would furrow both when she was confused and when she was annoyed with something happening in the book. If something made her happy or amused her, she didn’t smile broadly or laugh, but instead her eyes softened and one corner of her mouth pulled upward. She would also move one of her hands to her face and rub her upper lip gently.

I also noticed that as she would walk around the kitchen she seemed to be humming to herself. She wasn’t making a noise, but she might have been humming or singing in her head and, every so often, she’d do a fancy step on the floor or twirl around, like she was dancing. Watching this gave me an idea, so one night while she was putting dishes away I switched on my old radio and looped my one arm around her waist and grabbed her hand with my other, twirling her around. This elicited the largest smile from her I had seen yet. It wasn’t a huge smile, but it was a nice one none the less. I could even see a hint of her dimples.

Another thing I noticed was that when she went out to the garden, she’d often spend time with the flowers that were either bent or broken or ailing in some way. She’d try to straighten them up and give them some extra water. Then, the next day she’d check on them to see if they were doing better. Sometimes they were and I wondered if maybe it hadn’t been the extra drink that had helped them but her touch.

Noticing all these things made me feel like maybe the ‘new’ Sydney wouldn’t be so bad at all. Still I couldn’t help but miss the old one.

Using my new positive daily outlook, the days flew by and soon it was the last week in August and time for Sydney’s check up with Dr. Jamison. As we drove to Birmingham, I couldn’t help but feel nervous. The entire drive I was debating whether or not to bring up Sydney’s personality change to the doctor. It wasn’t as though I disliked the new Sydney; I doubted I could have disliked any form Sydney came in. I still couldn’t help myself from wanting the old Sydney back, though. I had managed to press down that desire but it was still there, just as I suspected it would always be.

At the hospital, Dr. Jamison greeted us with a warm smile, immediately asking Sydney how she was doing. She told him that she was doing well to which I added, “Incredibly well.”

“I can see that,” Dr. Jamison chuckled softly. Then, he ushered us into his office. He performed a few simple tests on Sydney and then checked the incision in the back of her head. He told us it was healing perfectly. Once that was over, he sent Sydney to get one last scan of her head (or so we hoped this was the last).

While we were waiting for Sydney’s scan to be done (it took about fifteen minutes) I took a deep breath, readying myself to ask the question I dreaded the answer to. “Doctor, can I ask you something?” I began. He gave me a single nod. “Well… I was just wondering… if, maybe you knew why – or if, if it was possible that Sydney’s personality changed because of, you know, her tumor?”

He looked at me closely for a moment before asking, “Personality changed… how exactly?”

“Well…,” I began, pausing for a moment, trying to find the best way to describe it. “Before the tumor she was really talkative and now… now I can barely get a sentence out of her. She’s really shy too, around people we don’t know and even people we do. I doubt she’s spoken more than a word or two to anyone other than me… and you, obviously.”

Dr. Jamison ‘hmm’-ed quietly as he rubbed his chin with a few of his finger tips. “How long have you known Sydney?” he asked finally. “Has she ever been like this before?”

“I’ve known her since we were children. We went to the same school all of our lives – nature of bein’ in a small town like Liberty,” I added with a slight shrug of my shoulders. “We weren’t together back then though…but… but she was quiet. Really quiet. I think she mighta spoken a sentence to me throughout all of high school combined,” I said with a slight laugh.

“When did she become more talkative?” he asked.

“Don’t know specifically… all I know is up until a few months ago I hadn’t seen her since high school graduation. That was almost ten years ago. A few months ago, when I ran into her, she was talkative,” I explained.

The doctor nodded. “Well, it’s not uncommon for patients who’ve had brain surgery or even aneurisms to have changes in their personality. Often times they either go from shy to outgoing or outgoing to shy, whatever the opposite of what they originally were.”

This brought a little bit of hope back to me. If the doctor had heard of it, maybe it was treatable. “So, you can fix it?” I asked, sounding a bit more hopeful than I had meant to.

“’fraid not, son,” Dr. Jamison said, patting my shoulder. “Personality changes are almost always permanent. Does Sydney recognize her personality change?”

“No, I don’t think so. She doesn’t seem to anyway. I ask her why she’s being quiet and she just shrugs,” I said, my tone very sad. Permanent. Old Sydney would never come back. I had to admit that broke my heart a little.

“Yes, patients often don’t remember being any different than the way they currently are. I can get you some literature on it when we get back to my office. I’ve got a pamphlet that has some online support groups for family members you might be interested in,” he told me. I mumbled a ‘thank you’ to him, but other than that remained silent. I was trapped in my mind with my thoughts of the ‘old’ Sydney versus the ‘new’ one, comparing them like I promised myself I wouldn’t.

~*~

After Dr. Jamison gave Sydney a clean bill of health we left the hospital. I didn’t say much during our car ride or for the rest of the evening while we were home, which meant my household was very silent. The only noises came from the pages of Sydney’s book turning or the low hum of the TV running since I was watching a baseball game on mute to write my next article.

Once we were lying in bed I felt Sydney shifting beside me much more than normal. She was rolling back and forth more frequently than she usually did. Finally, she spoke very softly. “Michael.”

“You okay?” I whispered, wondering if maybe she was sick or something.

“I… I don’t know.”

“What’s wrong?”

She didn’t answer me for a few moments when she said in a very, very quiet and almost broken voice, “I’ll leave if you want me to. I’ll pack my things and go back to Chicago and you’ll never have to… to deal with me again.”

At first I was too confused to respond, trying to figure out what the hell she was talking about. Finally I was able to utter out a, “What are you talking about?”

She rolled onto her back before saying, “I heard you today with Dr. Jamison. He must have left the microphone on in the room where you were waiting because I could hear everything you said. You said I changed but… but I don’t feel different and… and you wanted me to go back to like I was before but I c-can’t,” she said, her voice cracking slightly with tears at the last word.

She cleared her throat and paused a minute before continuing, “So if you want me to leave…”

“No Sydney no, god no,” I said pulling her close to my body and kissing her head. What did I do? That’s not what I wanted, not at all. “Sydney I don’t want you to leave, not ever.”

“A-are you sure?” she croaked. I could feel the tears rolling down her cheeks so I kissed them away.

“Yes, yes I’m sure. I’m so sure Sydney. I don’t want to live my life without you. That’s why I fought so hard for you to have the surgery, I couldn’t lose you. I still can’t. I love you and… I want to marry you,” I blurted out. That was unexpected, even to me, but it was the truth. Ever since nearly losing her I knew I couldn’t survive letting her go. I needed her in my life, forever. Old Sydney, New Sydney, any Sydney; I still needed her.

“But Michael you wanted-”

“I want you,” I cut her off. “You, Sydney, you and nobody else. Will you marry me?”

“Yes,” she whispered. Immediately after the word left her lips I kissed her. She kissed me back and, for the first time since her surgery, our kiss was a passionate one. Our kiss ended there though and she clung to me tightly for the rest of the night, just as I clung to her, never wanting to let go.

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

Chapters 11 - 14 + Epilogue