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"It sounds like you'll just be here for a few more hours, until the anesthesia wears off. Right, Doctor?"
Desmond looked up at the doctor, certain his concern must show. She wasn't supposed to need observation. Not only that, but the Institute stocked only two pain killers stronger than aspirin— codeine and morphine. If Dr. Laurence thought Rebecca might need some, he must expect her to be in considerable pain. What had gone wrong?
The doctor frowned and shook his head, unwilling to discuss whatever it was in front of Rebecca. Desmond barely controlled his impatience as they loaded a grumbling Rebecca into a wheelchair and rolled her down to the infrequently used rooms containing hospital beds. But he restrained himself, for her sake.
She settled into bed easily enough, and motioned Desmond to her side. "I didn't expect to be staying here for any length of time, or I'd have brought my work. Could you bring it back for me?"
And to think, people accused him of being a workaholic.
"Shouldn't you be resting, or recuperating?"
Rebecca dismissed those options with a snort. "I'd really rather not spend the next few hours staring at the ceiling, thank you. Although I would appreciate my morning coffee."
"I'll get your papers when I take Gillian home. In the meantime, Nurse Peters should be able to arrange for some coffee."
He flagged the nurse over. Leaving her to argue with Rebecca about the advisability of coffee so soon after her operation, he stepped outside to talk to Dr. Laurence.
"All right. What's the problem?" Desperate for answers, Desmond lowered his mental shields, hoping he could pick up some information that way.
"There's nothing to worry about, Mr. Lacroix," the doctor said, his arrogance lasting only until he saw Desmond's expression. Then he stepped back, sweat beading his forehead. It's not my fault. He's going to blame me. He's going to cut my funding. It's not my fault....
Slamming down his mental barriers, Desmond absorbed the moment of silence before he gave voice to the doctor's last thoughts. "I know something went wrong, but I won't blame you unless it was your fault. So tell me what really happened."
The doctor's eyes widened, and he stammered, "I d-did everything correctly. It wasn't a mistake on my part."
"If you did everything correctly, you have nothing to worry about. Now tell me what went wrong."
"Oh." The doctor passed a shaky hand through his hair. "I had trouble opening the bone to withdraw the marrow. It took three tries." Setting his jaw, he added, "I did say you should fly out to one of the cancer treatment centers that specializes in these transplants, instead of trying to do it here. They'd have had the equipment to deal with a contingency like that."
"She'll be all right, though, won't she?" Desmond fought back the urge to shake the answer loose. That would only scramble Dr. Laurence's thoughts worse than they were already.
"Yes. She'll probably hurt like hell, but other than that, the operation was a complete success. As far as complications go, it was a minor one. But painful. That's why I'm recommending keeping her on codeine until the worst of it is over."
"Do it then." Desmond used his command voice, refusing to let the doctor sidestep his next question. "Is there any possibility Gillian might have a similar complication?"
"No. Hers is a completely different procedure. It'll be just another shot."
"You're positive?"
Dr. Laurence shifted his weight from foot to foot, refusing to look Desmond in the eyes.
"Doctor," Desmond snapped, his voice jerking the man to full attention. "Is my daughter in danger?"
"There is always a possibility, with any kind of transplant, that the host body will reject the graft. We've taken every precaution, and type-matched Ms. Morgan's cells with your daughter's to minimize the risk. She's in more danger if she doesn't have the transplant."
Desmond nodded, letting the doctor relax. Finally, an answer he could use. He looked in the direction of the waiting area, where Philippe sat with Gillian. Did she understand anything of what was about to happen? Was she scared? He needed to be there with her, to comfort her. But he owed it to Rebecca to be with her, too. Torn, he took a single step toward the waiting room, then stopped.
"Go get the codeine," he told the doctor. "I'll tell Rebecca you'll be bringing it."
He'd tell Rebecca her medicine was coming, and make sure the nurse had brought her coffee. Then he'd go back to Gillian.
REBECCA STRUGGLED back to consciousness. Bits of dreams clung to her perceptions, but she shook them off. She lay on a firm mattress, with crisp new sheets below and above her. A thin foam pillow barely cushioned her head.
She opened her eyes, blinking to clear her vision. White walls, white sheets. The hospital. The operation must be over. But it was supposed to be outpatient surgery. Why was she in a hospital bed? And why did she feel so out of it?
"Rebecca?" Desmond's voice. To her left.
She turned her head, slowly. He sat by the side of her bed, looking out of place in an ugly plastic chair. She'd never seen him use anything but the best. He should be seated in one of those leather armchairs from his study. They suited him. Not ugly plastic. Then again, those plastic chairs didn't really suit anyone. Hospitals only used them to encourage visitors to leave quickly. She hoped he wouldn't leave quickly. She liked looking at him.
