Darkness Series

Part 20: Light and Shadow

 

Jarod took one look at the young man and hurried to Mark’s side, intently studying his face.

 

“Where did you hurt yourself?”

 

“Me?”

 

Mark stared at him in disbelief for a moment before understanding and breaking into peals of soft laughter as he picked up a knife. His reflection in the blade showed a large streak of blood on his cheek and another on his forehead, and his amusement only increased at the concern on Jarod's face. Putting down the knife, he smothered his laughter in order not to wake the three sleeping occupants of the house and turned to his boss. 

 

“Want to meet your son?”

 

Jarod’s eyes widened as he instantly understood the younger man’s meaning. “You what?”

 

“Me nothing,” Mark clarified. “Your wife all of it.”

 

Going over to the stroller, he picked up the small bundle and placed it gently in Jarod's arms.

 

“I don’t know what he weighs,” he remarked. “Something pretty substantial, I’d say, even if he is a few weeks early. But he’s got a pretty healthy pair of lungs too. Nicole said she’d leave the choice up to you of whether you wanted to trundle them both off to hospital or not.”

 

Mark couldn’t help grinning at the fact that, for once, Jarod was completely speechless, staring at his son in disbelief.

 

“W… when?” the father eventually spluttered.

 

“About three quarters of an hour ago,” Mark responded. “She said it was happening quickly. I had no idea how quickly until it was almost all over.”

 

There was a long silence following this, at the end of which Jarod finally looked up.

 

“Nicole?”

 

“Upstairs, in bed, probably sleeping,” Mark told him succinctly. “Apparently it’s a pretty exhausting thing, giving birth.”

 

Jarod grinned, his arms tightening slightly around the new baby. Turning away, he looked back over his shoulder.

 

“Call the hospital and ask them to send an ambulance over here, will you? No matter what Nicole said, I still think I’d prefer them there.”

 

Nodding in agreement and unsurprised by this, Mark turned to the phone.

 

* * *

 

“It’s quiet,” Sydney remarked as he walked into the living room with Michelle. Mark put down his book and pretended to think for a moment.

 

“Hmm, Charlotte’s in bed and, oh yes, the ambulance took Jarod, Nicole and Christopher to the hospital about two hours ago.”

 

The psychiatrist’s eyes popped as Mark nonchalantly returned to his book.

 

“What?”

 

“You heard me.”

 

Sydney's hands gripped Mark’s shoulders, the older man’s face white with tension, as he almost dragged him out of the chair. “What happened?”

 

Putting down the book with a grin, the young man looked up. “You remember how fast you told me Charlotte’s birth was?”

 

The older man nodded as he sank onto the sofa, already able to guess at the conclusion.

 

“Apparently,” Mark continued, “Christopher was a little quicker. Nicole said she felt some pain earlier, but thought it was false contractions. When things started to happen, around seven o’clock, she realized it wasn’t.”

 

“It happened at home?”

 

“On the kitchen floor,” Mark agreed. “Not the most comfortable of places, but she didn’t seem too keen on climbing the stairs when I suggested it.”

 

“Stop teasing, Mark,” Michelle scolded. “Be serious. Is everything okay?”

 

“Fine. Jarod got home about half an hour after it was all over and the ambulance took all three of them to the hospital. He called an hour ago to tell me everything’s fine, that Christopher is a very healthy baby boy and that Nicole’s resting quietly. He’s going to stay there overnight and he said you could call him on his cell phone when you came home if you wanted to.”

 

Sydney immediately made a dive for the phone, and Mark smiled as he picked up his book again. “If nobody minds,” he stated, knowing that neither Michelle nor Sydney were paying attention. “I might go to bed. It’s been a long evening.”

 

Still smiling, he left the room, shutting the door firmly after himself and shaking his head at the events of the evening as he prepared for bed.

 

* * *

 

When Mark’s alarm clock woke him the next morning, the house was unusually silent. It took him a few seconds to remember the cause, but when he did, he hurriedly got out of bed and headed for the shower. His grumbling stomach reminded him that he had had no dinner the night before and he briefly tossed up cooking himself some toast or eating at work. Suddenly remembering one of his reports, which he’d wanted to look over before his first appointment, he quickly finished the shower and threw his clothes on, running a comb through his hair and then, after writing a note for whoever might be still upstairs, headed for his car and work.

 

The cafeteria, he noticed, was singularly free of staff, but, as he glanced at his watch and saw that the new nursing shift was only half an hour from starting, he understood and purchased an egg and some toast as well as a cold chocolate drink. Sitting at the table, he pulled out his old medical textbook, which he had packed into his bag the night before, to reread the chapter on childbirth, glad to find out that he had remembered everything as he quickly ate the eggs and toast.

 

Buying both a cup of coffee and another carton of chocolate milk, he carried them and his bag up to his office, letting himself in and settling in behind the desk with the report.

 

“Good morning,” stated a voice from the doorway, and he jumped, almost upsetting the coffee.

 

“Sorry,” James Shirer stated apologetically. “I thought you’d see me.”

 

“It’s too early to see people properly,” Mark commented with a grin. “Give me another half hour and I’ll be conscious.”

 

“Just in time for staff meeting,” James laughed. “How convenient.”

 

Mark arched an eyebrow. “I’m awake for the important things.”

 

“I get this strange feeling I’m being insulted,” the older doctor remarked airily. “Never mind. I just thought I’d come and spread a little hospital gossip.”

 

“Please do.” Mark waved magnanimously at a chair. “I’m awake now.”

 

Sitting down in the chair, James saw the suddenly embarrassed glance Mark shot at the carton of milk on his desk and grinned. “I have three identical cartons of strawberry-flavored milk in my little fridge right now,” he admitted. “You’re not the only one with a soft spot.”

 

Mark pretended to look disappointed. “That’s it? Frankly, I was hoping for something a bit juicier.”

 

Dr. Shirer snorted with laughter. “Hardly. Actually, it’s about the boss.”

 

About to speak, Mark suddenly remembered that few people, if any, actually knew that he lived at the Crawford’s house and remained silent, trying to look interested. “Oh yes?”

 

“There’s another future Director around the place. And the rumor-mill declares that Nicole had the baby on the floor at home.”

 

“Poor thing,” Dr. Lyneham stated. “I can’t imagine anything worse. But I’m glad to know she’s had it.”

 

“And he’s not quite as prem. as Charlotte,” James expanded. “So hopefully he’ll be healthier than his sister.”

 

Mark’s eyes twinkled. “Well, I have to wonder whether somebody’s imagination was working very overtime, or if it really happened.”

 

“You already knew,” the older man stated, disappointed, as he read the expression on the other man’s face and believed he understood it. “And I was hoping to skim the cream.”

 

“Sorry.” Not bothering to deny it, Mark shrugged as he stood up.

 

“How?”

 

“You know,” Mark proposed as he stood up, “I always thought it was more fun when people kept their sources a secret.” He held open the door, trying to prevent his lips twitching. “Shall we go?”

 

* * *

 

Farewelling his latest patient, Mark turned to find Jarod's secretary standing in the doorway of his office with her appointment book.

 

“Do you have a minute, Dr. Lyneham?”

 

“Of course.” He waved her into his office, taking the book from the desk of his own secretary, who was out to lunch. “Are you trying to clear a day for your boss to spend with his family?”

 

“Exactly.” She smiled. “There won’t be many patients - Dr. Crawford’s less busy than he has been - but a few couldn’t change their appointments and agreed to be seen by other people, yourself included.”

 

Grinning, Mark looked at the appointments, fitting in those where he could and gradually filling up the next two days. When that was finished, he sat back in his chair.

 

“How about in-patients?”

 

Julia shot him a grateful smile. “Would you mind, Dr. Lyneham? That would really be wonderful if you could.”

 

Mark took the list she offered and wrote out the patient names and ward numbers before handing it back. “Can you get me the files some time today so that I can work out what I’m doing?”

 

“Of course, Dr. Lyneham. I believe Dr. Crawford did his rounds this morning, but it would be very helpful if you could do it for those who need to be checked on this evening and also tomorrow.”

 

“Sure.” He tucked the page into his diary. “Let me know if I can help any further.”

 

“Thanks, I will.” She took back the book and left the office and Mark stood up to file away the last details from his most recent appointment.

 

* * *

 

Mark looked up as the door of his office opened to see a little girl in the doorway and stood up with a smile.

 

“Hi, Charlotte.”

 

She ran over, hugging his legs. “Hi, Mark. I just saw Mommy an’ Daddy an’ Christopher.”

 

He picked her up, carrying her around to his chair and sitting down, smiling into her excited face as she looked around his office.

 

“Is this where you work?”

 

“It sure is,” he agreed. “Like it?”

 

Her little nose wrinkled. “It smells kind of funny.”

 

“That’s the soap I use,” he told her, holding up a hand near her face. “Sniff.”

 

She turned away in disgust from the strong smell of disinfectant. “Yucky.”

 

“Sorry, baby,” he apologized, moving his hand away immediately. “Did you have dinner yet?”

 

“Uh huh.” She nodded enthusiastically. “Uncle Sydney took me into the big dining room.”

 

Mark grinned. “Want to know a secret?”

 

Her eyes widened. “What?”

 

“You were there your second night in the world.”

 

She looked puzzled. “I don’t ‘member it.”

 

“I do,” he told her, “because I was there.”

 

Suddenly she hugged him around the neck. “You’ve always been there.”

 

“Yes,” he agreed with a smile. “I guess I have been.”

 

* * *

 

It was past midnight when Mark let himself quietly into the house, rubbing the back of his neck to try and get rid of his headache as he pulled off his tie with the other hand.

 

“Long day?” asked an accented voice from the other end of the dimly lit hallway.

 

Mark rolled his eyes as Sydney smiled knowingly. “If I’d known it was going to be like this,” he stated seriously, “I would have had second thoughts about medicine as a career.”

 

“It won’t be,” the psychiatrist promised. “Or not often. Don’t forget that you did the work of two doctors today, not just yourself. And you’ll gradually get used to more patients.”

 

The young man wearily rubbed a hand over his eyes. “I’ll take your word for it,” he compromised. “But if you’ll excuse me, Sydney, I’m going to bed. I have an early start tomorrow.”

 

Rapidly changing into his pajamas, Mark curled up under the blankets, but his headache seemed only to increase as he lay down. Rubbing his eyes, he tried to relax, eventually recalling some of the techniques his parents had used to try to ease their pain. He pictured how proud they would have been for what he had done and drifted off to sleep, smiling.

 

* * *

 

Mark glanced at his watch as he reentered his office after finishing his rounds, sitting down at his desk to make several notations as reminders to himself for that evening and then pulling over the appointment book with an inward groan. An expression of some sort must have appeared on his face, however, because a laugh immediately drew his attention to the examination bed, the sight of his boss causing him to jump violently.

 

“A little warning wouldn’t have gone astray,” Mark suggested somewhat acidly, pushing away the book as Jarod slid off the bed and walked over to sit in the chair opposite.

 

“I prefer the unexpected myself,” Jarod remarked, grinning briefly before becoming more serious. “And it’s very unexpected to know that a person I hire as a cancer specialist also turns out to be a very competent obstetrician.”

 

“What else was I supposed to have done?” the younger man queried with a shrug. “Left her there on her own?”

 

“No, I agree you wouldn’t have done that,” Jarod replied. “No doctor worth his salt would.”

 

“And it wasn’t that different from normal surgery,” Mark argued. “Besides, we only studied that a couple of years ago.”

 

Jarod raised an eyebrow. “How many births did you actually see?”

 

“Well, none,” Mark admitted. “But we did spend some time discussing it.”

 

The older man’s eyebrows drew together as a thought obviously struck him. “Just out of interest,” he commented, “have you ever heard of a place called NuGenesis?”

 

Mark’s eyes widened in astonishment, but his response was casual. “Sure. Mom and Dad went there to have me.”

 

“I was beginning to suspect as much.” Jarod stood up. “Mind if I do a blood test on you?”

 

Rolling up his sleeve, Mark immediately offered his arm, unsure of what Jarod was wanting, but recognizing the expression on his face and knowing it was important to him. While the surgeon took the sample, the young man read through his notes about the patient he was expecting within the next ten minutes. Jarod capped the test tube and pocketed it, disposing of the needle and stripping off the latex gloves he had donned.

 

“Sorry,” he apologized. “It’s pretty unfair that I have to hurt you just to satisfy my curiosity.”

 

Mark grinned, rolling down his sleeve. “I had so many of those during training that I barely notice them now.”

 

“Glad to hear it.” Jarod halted in the doorway. “I thought I should tell you, Nicole and Christopher will be coming home tomorrow, so I’ll be able to take some of the work off your shoulders.”

 

There was a relieved look on the younger man’s face. “I won’t pretend that I’m not pleased to hear it.”

 

“No,” Jarod remarked thoughtfully as he opened the office door. “I’m sure you won’t.”

 

* * *

 

Sydney looked up in astonishment as a pile of papers were dropped on top of the newspaper he was reading and Jarod threw himself into the armchair opposite.

 

“You know, I could have sworn I taught you better manners.”

“Read that,” Jarod told him abruptly. “I can’t believe it,” he continued, half to himself. “Of all the incredible coincidences…”

 

Eyeing the figures, Sydney eventually looked up. “Sorry, but I have no idea what I’m looking for.”

 

Jarod got up, walked over and pointed to various notations he had made, eventually directing the older man’s attention to a picture he had printed out of two genomes, one showing an obvious irregularity.

 

“Recognize it?”

 

“No.”

 

“You’d see it in my blood, Angelo’s, possibly Ethan’s…”

 

“The Pretender factor?”

 

“Exactly.” Jarod folded his arms. “That’s Mark’s results.”

 

Sydney stared at him in amazement before a small smile slowly appeared on his face. “Well, that explains why he did so well with Nicole.”

 

“I guess so.” Jarod took back the pages. “I hunted in the old files, but there wasn’t anything about him in there.”

 

“NuGenesis didn’t just provide children to the Centre,” the psychiatrist reminded him. “It’s possible he slipped through their net – if they were even still looking for Pretenders at that stage.” He sighed ruefully. “They had a few by then.”

 

“I just can’t help wondering if they had something to do with his parents,” Jarod mused. “In all the tests we did, there were no environmental factors to explain why they both came down with the same type of cancer, no family connections, nothing.”

 

“But it wasn’t that rare, was it?”

 

“No,” the younger man conceded slowly. “But that doesn’t stop me from being suspicious.”

 

* * *

 

Mark sat back in his chair, looking up at the clock in astonishment and trying to work out what he had just done in the previous fifteen minutes. Shaking his head, both to remove the headache he felt starting and to clear his mind, he looked down at the report he was trying to finish before going home for dinner, but the letters jumped around on the page. Pressing his thumb and finger into his eyes, he blinked again, several times, and then stood up, going over to the sink in the corner to splash some water on his face.

 

“Excuse me, Dr. Lyneham?”

 

He turned to find his secretary in the doorway. “Yes?”

 

“You never finished telling me what you wanted, sir. You stopped halfway through.”

 

“Oh, right, sorry,” he apologized, “I was, uh, distracted.”

 

The excuse sounded lame in his own ears, and only the respect she had for him prevented her from asking any further questions as he went back over to the desk and produced a list, handing it to her with a small smile.

 

“Nothing vital. It can be done in the morning, if that would be easier for you.”

 

“Thank you, sir.” She accepted the list. “Oh, and Dr. Crawford asked to see you when you had a free second. He’s out in the waiting room.”

 

“Ask him to give me a moment, if you don’t mind,” he told her. “And you can go home, if you want to.”

 

“I’ll see you in the morning, sir.”

 

“Yes,” he agreed vaguely, feeling the headache increase and wishing fervently that Jarod wasn’t in the outer room, waiting for him. As soon as the door shut behind her, he washed his face with the cool water, gulping some from a bottle in his small refrigerator, before sitting down at the desk just as Jarod knocked and entered.

 

“Did you get that report done for me?”

 

Mark stared at him blankly. “Report?”

 

“The one I asked you for this morning, during the meeting, remember?” The older man eyed him closely. “About Mrs. Harris.”

 

“Assume I’ve been swamped with work and forgotten,” Mark requested, taking refuge in a line he was having to use with increasing frequency in recent days. “And tell me again.”

 

Giving him another close look, Jarod nodded and began the explanation, but the expression of deep thought never faded from his eyes.

 

* * *

 

“Mark, I want you to report to the Outpatients department for a full physical tomorrow.”

 

The young man looked up from his dinner in surprise. “Why?”

 

“’Theirs is not to reason why…’”

 

“’…Theirs is but to do and die.’” Sydney finished for him. “Alfred Lord Tennyson. I think you could have come up with a more appropriate quote, Jarod.”

 

Jarod grinned somewhat shamefacedly. “Sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

 

“Miracles will never cease,” Nicholas muttered, grinning as Jarod glared at him.

 

“To change the subject,” Nicole remarked from her seat beside her six-month-old son, “as we’re all home and there doesn’t seem like any emergencies are going to crop up…”

 

“Touch wood,” Jarod interrupted, reaching over to pat his wife’s head with a loving smile.

 

“Does anyone have any suggestions for this evening?” she continued, seemingly oblivious of the interruption, although there was a sudden sharp crack of bone on bone under the table and Jarod visibly flinched before responding to her question.

 

“Cards?” he suggested, and was immediately howled down by a protest so loud that it sent both animals out of the room as fast as they could run.

 

“How about board games?” Michelle suggested. “Preferably games of chance, so certain people can’t be accused of cheating. The rest of you go set them up while Nick and I clear the table.”

 

“Gee, thanks, Mom,” her son remarked through gritted teeth as he stood up.

 

“Well, I thought it was about time you did something for your room and board,” she told him with a laugh. “You aren’t paying rent here, you know.”

Mark followed Jarod into the living room, but the older man immediately steered the conversation to the games they should play, thus giving Mark no chance to ask about his ordered medical. The little girl followed her father into the room and Nicole soon appeared with Christopher while Jarod was getting the games out of the cupboard. Knowing that he probably wouldn’t get a chance to ask if Jarod didn’t want him to, Mark gave up on the idea and turned his attention to the matter of a game.

 

* * *

 

Jarod awoke to hear quiet but persistent banging on his door and sat up.

 

“Sydney?”

 

“No, it’s Nicholas,” a terse voice responded. “There’s something wrong with Mark. I think he must be sick or something.”

 

Jarod hurriedly got out of bed and pulled on his bathrobe, yanking open the bedroom door. “Why? What’s wrong with him?”

 

“I heard this noise, like groaning, and when I went to his room, he was moving on the bed like he was trying to escape from something. He wouldn’t respond when I talked to him, and I think he’s running a fever.”

 

Almost falling down the stairs, Jarod raced along the hall to the brightly lit room at the end of it, pushing open the door and freezing momentarily in the doorway at the sight of Mark, caught in the midst of a seizure, his eyes wide and staring, back arched and limbs stiff.

 

“Get the first-aid kit,” Jarod ordered over his shoulder, hurrying to the bedside and throwing back the blankets that were wrapped around the young man’s legs, loosening the collar of his pajama top and making sure that the pants weren’t tight around his waist.

 

Nicole appeared with the bag seconds later, Sydney close behind, but the psychiatrist left again immediately to call an ambulance. Jarod looked up to meet his wife’s eye.

 

“Get me some clothes,” he directed. “And get dressed yourself.”

 

Pulling a syringe out of the bag, Jarod loaded it and delivered a dose of medication into the back of Mark’s hand. Seconds later, the previously tense muscles began to relax and Jarod rolled the young man onto his side, speaking reassuringly in his ear as he performed a rapid examination.

 

“Ambulance is on the way,” Sydney reported as he entered the room. “It should be here in ten minutes.”

 

“Good.”

 

Sydney looked down at the man on the bed, who was blinking erratically, but whose eyes failed to focus, as Nicole entered the room and Jarod accepted his bundle of clothes, heading for the bathroom. As he reentered the bedroom, minutes later, he handed his wife a damp cloth and she bent down to wipe off the perspiration on Mark’s face and the saliva that dribbled out of the corner of his mouth, making sure he could breathe properly, as the ambulance, lights flashing but without sirens, pulled into the driveway.

 

* * *

 

“Immediate MRI,” Jarod ordered as soon as the gurney was through the doors. “And I want to get a series of blood tests done, ASAP.” He handed a piece of paper with various details on it to the first nurse who appeared, seeing Ann hurry over to perform a cursory examination for the hospital admission records.

 

“What do you suspect?” Nicole demanded, pulling Jarod gently aside as Mark was transferred to the trolley in the emergency cubicle.

 

“Brain tumor,” the surgeon offered somewhat hesitantly. “That would explain the seizure, and I suspect he was also having periods of nausea and dizziness during the past week. His work’s dropped off, he’s had lapses of concentration that I’m tempted to attribute to absence seizures, and even his writing’s gone downhill. That’s why I told him to have the full medical last night.”

 

“MRI is ready, Dr. Crawford.”

 

“Good. Let’s get him up there,” he ordered, slipping on the white coat Ann brought over and then placing one hand on the trolley to help guide it along the hall. As they stepped into the elevator, Mark’s head moved on the thin pillow and he swallowed with some difficulty, his eyelids fluttering. The doctor leaned over the bed as the blue eyes opened. “Mark, it’s Jarod. Can you hear me?”

 

He slipped his hand into the one that lay on top of the blankets, feeling the fingers tighten slightly around his, a small smile of recognition flickering across Mark’s white face.

 

“You had a seizure, Mark,” the doctor explained slowly and clearly. “We’re going to take you in for an MRI now so that we can figure out what caused it. Then we’ll do everything we can to treat it. Understand?”

 

The young man’s head moved slightly on the pillow, the effort seeming to exhaust him, because he immediately closed his eyes. Jarod brought his other hand down off the side of the gurney so that two fingers lay on Mark’s wrist, timing his pulse. Satisfied with the strength of it, Jarod then helped guide the bed through the doors and into the large room. The man in charge of the room immediately drew him to one side.

 

“I’m concerned that if he has another seizure during the scan, he might damage either himself or the machine.”

Jarod's eyes glittered darkly, considering this. “What do you want to do? Sedate him?”

 

“I think it would be best,” the man advised, guardedly. “We have everything here.”

 

“All right.”

 

The surgeon nodded, watching as one the nurses, having overheard this, immediately prepared the needle and medication that the technician provided. Jarod directed the amount to be used and then withdrew to the room where he could see the results as they came up on the screen, his hands clenched into tight fists in his pockets.

 

* * *

 

Nicole pulled out her pager as it beeped, hurrying to the nearest phone to respond to the request that she report to the operating rooms at once. Jarod was already waiting in the doorway for her when she appeared, and she saw both Michelle and Sydney with him.

 

“It’s an optic nerve glioma, that is,” he added for Michelle’s sake, “a tumor on the optic nerve.”

 

“Who’s doing the surgery?” Nicole demanded. “You or me?”

 

“Both,” he told her. “Wade’s on the way and Mark’s being brought down from the MRI room now.” He turned to Sydney. “If he’s woken up from the sedative, will you give him a quick outline of what we’re going to do, even if he doesn’t understand?”

 

“Of course.”

 

The psychiatrist, his hospital ID clipped to his sweater, stepped over as the trolley appeared, accompanying it through the doors to the preparation room. Jarod turned to Michelle.

 

“Would you mind going back home and taking care of the kids? I know Nicholas is there, but they might worry if you’re not. We’ll call and let you know as soon as it’s over, or I’ll send Sydney home to tell you.”

 

Nodding, she immediately turned, walking down the hall to the elevator. Nicole seized Jarod's arm as they entered the operating area, knowing him well enough to realize that he hadn’t told her everything.

 

“What else is there?”

 

He sighed, drawing her over to a screen on which the MRI results were clipped. “I’m hoping it’ll be benign, but it seems to have formed pretty fast. It’s also pushing right up against the nerve itself. There may be no other way to remove it than to sever the nerve.”

 

“He’ll be blind,” she gasped.

 

“I know.” Jarod's voice was hard. “We can hope it won’t happen, but there’s no way to be sure. And even if we don’t have to go to that extreme, the surgery itself could affect his vision.”

 

“But if we don’t do it, the seizures could kill him,” Nicole finished, nodding slowly.

 

Jarod placed a firm hand on either arm, turning her to face him. “Do you want to do this?”

 

“Not really,” she confessed. “But I also don’t want to be sitting in the hallway, leaving Mark’s fate in the hands of somebody else.” She swallowed hard. “You?”

 

“The same.” He gently squeezed her arms, half-turning when Wade appeared in the doorway. “Okay, let’s get it over with.”

 

* * *

 

The young man felt the pressure of something on his face and slowly managed to make his hand lift up off the blanket, but his fingers were gently held before he could find out what it was.

 

“Can you hear me, Mark?” an unfamiliar female voice asked. “My name’s Nurse Williams. You’re in Intensive Care.” He felt a finger slip into his other hand. “If you can hear me, try to squeeze my hands.”

 

He struggled to make his fingers react, finally feeling them move slightly.

 

“Very good,” the voice told him. “You have bandages over your eyes and forehead and also an oxygen mask, to help you breathe. Don’t try to move too much. You probably won’t be able to anyway. Okay?”

 

Mark tightened the muscles of his hands again, also trying to nod, managing to move his head on the pillow.

 

“I’m going to call Dr. Crawford now,” the nurse told him. “Just relax, Mark. He’ll be here soon.”

 

There was a period of silence, and then a muffled voice could be heard, obviously a loudspeaker, calling for Dr. Crawford to report to the ICU immediately. Mark struggled to move the hand the nurse had replaced on the bed, eventually managing to make it touch his left hand and feeling a needle that was stuck into the back of it, following the tube that led out of it for a short distance. As he did so, a beeping that he had faintly noticed now increased in speed, at almost the same moment as his hand felt a circle of adhesive and a small device taped to his chest under the thin sheet that covered him. Exhausted by even this simple act, he let his hand sink back down onto the bed, swallowing thickly.

 

“Hi, Mark,” another voice suddenly stated from out of the darkness. “It’s Nicole. Jarod's on his way down.”

 

Footsteps approached and then a hand picked up his, stroking the back of it. Mark opened his mouth to say something, but Nicole gently touched his cheek.

 

“It’s okay,” she told him. “Don’t try to speak. When Jarod comes, he’ll tell you what happened. But you mustn’t talk yet.”

 

Mark felt that his lips were dry and eased his tongue out of his mouth to moisten them. Suddenly, the light pressure around his mouth and nose was lifted and a damp piece of cloth wiped his lips. He licked at a drop of moisture that had caught in the corner of his mouth, swallowing it gratefully.

 

The door opened again and footsteps came closer, a gentle hand coming down to rest on Mark’s lower right arm.

 

“It’s Jarod, Mark,” the familiar, deep voice told him and Mark made an effort to turn his head in the direction from which he could hear the words coming. “I don’t want you to speak yet, but I’d like you to try and nod or squeeze Nicole’s hand if you understand. I’ll put it in simple English so that you know exactly what I’m talking about. Okay?”

 

He managed a nod, hearing a slight rustle of paper near his ear.

 

“Mark, you had a tumor on your optic nerve, but it was benign, non-cancerous. We removed it two days ago, and you’ve been kept under sedation since then to give it a better chance to heal. We’ll slowly reduce the sedative you’re receiving over the next forty-eight hours or so, and if everything goes well, you’ll be out of Intensive Care in a few days. Do you understand?”

 

Feeling unable to nod, Mark managed to squeeze Nicole’s hand, feeling her thumb gently stroke his index finger.

 

“We’ve got your eyes bandaged so you don’t try to use them, and also because we had to make the incision near your eye to remove the tumor, but it won’t even be visible once it all heals, or so Wade told me to promise you. We’re also recording your brainwaves using an EEG, to record any further seizures you might have. The oxygen we’ve got you on is a precautionary measure.”

 

Mark felt himself start to slip away and struggled to stay focused, feeling a hand lightly touch his shoulder.

 

“It’s okay,” the deep voice soothed in his ear. “Don’t fight it, Mark. Just relax. I want you to get as much sleep as you can, to give everything a chance to heal.”

 

The young man heard a sound almost like a giggle from Nicole but was too exhausted to try and work out what it was, giving up and letting sleep overwhelm him.

 

* * *

 

Mark gratefully swallowed the cool water as a cup was held to his lips, reaching up to try and take the cup himself.

 

“You’re as determined as Jarod ever was,” Nicole complained, capturing his fingers in her other hand. “Why can’t you just accept it, when people are trying to do things for you?”

 

He smiled weakly. “Male obstinacy,” Mark suggested. “Or something.”

 

“Especially something,” Jarod added as he entered the room. There was a rattle as he picked up the folder from the end of the bed. “How’s the head, Mark?”

 

“Average,” the patient reported. “When can I get the bandages taken off so I can see again?”

There was a moment of silence before noises suggested that a chair was being pulled up beside the bed and then a sigh as Jarod sat down.

 

“Mark, when we did the MRI, we were concerned that, to take out the glioma, we might have had to sever the optic nerve. We didn’t do it,” he added quickly, as Mark tensed, “but we don’t know if either the surgery or the tumor might not have damaged the nerve in some other way.”

 

“So why didn’t you just do a biopsy and, if it was benign, leave it there? Why did you have to take it out?” the young man demanded in disbelief.

 

“Because you were having the first of what we believed would have become a series of grandmal seizures when Nicholas came to tell us you were unwell,” Jarod told him. “If we’d left it, there was a chance that you might not have survived those seizures. And no matter what you may think of it right now,” he added quickly, “blindness is better than death any day.”

 

“When…” Mark’s voice trailed away before he swallowed hard and tried again. “When will we be able to find out?”

 

“Tomorrow, Mark,” Nicole replied softly. “We’re going to take off the bandages tomorrow.”

 

Swallowing hard, his hands tightened around the blanket, suddenly feeling a hand come down to rest on his, loosening the grip his fingers had on the bedclothes and trapping them in the other man’s warm hands.

 

“We understand, Mark,” Jarod reminded him. “Both of us, and Sydney too. We’ve been through it, so we know what you’re feeling now.”

 

“I have to go, Mark,” Nicole stated suddenly. “I have a patient to see, but I’ll come back later this afternoon, okay?”

 

“Yeah.” He nodded without really hearing, still caught up in what he had just been told. Footsteps walked to the door and then he heard it shut with a soft click.

 

Mark suddenly felt something cold touch the back of his wrist, turning his head sharply to the side of the bed at which Jarod was sitting as straps were gently done up. His right hand was picked up and he felt raised dots under his fingers.

 

“What is it?”

 

“A watch,” the surgeon responded. “The one Nicole gave me. Now it’s your turn.” Jarod showed him how to use it before sitting back in his chair.

 

“What chance is there?” Mark finally asked. “Tomorrow, what chance will I have of seeing?”

 

“Not very high,” Jarod replied honestly. “Although, as far as we know, the surgery didn’t cause the nerve to be damaged, it’s had the pressure of the tumor against it for as long as its been growing. It’s a worst-case scenario, but there’s no guarantee it’ll be permanent. It might only last for a few weeks, or possibly months…”

 

“A few months?” Mark echoed dismally.

 

“It’s not the end of the world,” the older man stated firmly. “I know it feels like it, but it’s really only another challenge that has to be overcome.”

 

“And what happens… if I can’t see?” Mark asked brokenly. “Where do I go then?”

 

“Home, of course,” Jarod told him reassuringly. “Home with us. We’re not going to abandon you to your own devices, not after this. After all, with what you did for Nicole, in just one example, we both feel you’ve definitely cemented your place in the family. And then Charlotte can’t do without you. She’d be furious with me if I didn’t bring you home. She’s missing you a lot.”

 

Mark smiled faintly, resting his now-throbbing head back against the pillow. He could feel as the blankets were settled comfortably around him with a practiced touch, the bed lowered smoothly so that he was almost lying down.

 

“Get some sleep, Mark,” Jarod's voice directed quietly. “I’ll come up again in a few hours.”

 

Footsteps walked away from the bed, and gradually the room became almost silent. There was a soft murmuring from the nurse’s station, but otherwise there was a peacefulness, which he found soothing. Mark hadn’t expected to sleep, but it crept upon him before he was aware of it.

 

* * *

 

Jarod supported Mark through the front door, guiding him gently to the bedroom and seating him on the edge of the bed, which had been remade at some point during his time in hospital. The young man’s unseeing eyes slid slowly from left to right as he ran his hands over the sheets and blankets.

 

“Welcome home, Mark,” stated a female voice from the doorway, and he turned his head at the sound, smiling, feeling the blankets pulled up to cover his legs.

 

“Thanks, Michelle.” He leaned back against the pillows with a small sigh before raising his head. “Where is everyone?”

 

The doctor sat down beside him as Michelle began unpacking the bag of Mark’s belongings that Jarod had carried into the room. “Nicole took Charlotte and Christopher shopping, so you could have a chance to settle in before my daughter climbed all over you.”

 

Mark grinned faintly. “Yeah, I guess that was a good idea.”

 

“Hungry, Mark?” the woman asked, as she placed a cup onto the bedside table and guided his hand to it so that he knew where it was.

 

“For a home-cooked meal? Always,” he agreed. “But maybe not quite yet.”

 

“A few hours, then,” Jarod directed. “You can get up, if you want, and eat in the living room, but you don’t have to decide yet.”

 

“And now you’re going to tell me to rest, right?” Mark teased, and the older man laughed.

 

“Not if you don’t feel like it.” He picked up a Braille book from the bedside table where Michelle had put it and placed it in Mark’s hand. “I think that’s what you were reading, so you can do that for as long as you feel up to it.” He laughed again at Mark’s amused expression. “I thought you were capable of making that decision for yourself, Dr. Lyneham.”

 

The humor vanished from Mark’s face. “I’m not that anymore.”

 

“Actually, you are,” Jarod contradicted, pulling up a chair beside the bed. “You’re still a qualified specialist, and according to the official hospital records, you’re on medical leave. We’ve hired a temporary doctor to fill your place for the present, but if everything goes the way we hope it will, you can come back to work as soon as you’re able.”

 

Mark’s lips trembled and a tear hung from his eyelashes for a moment before slowly sliding down his cheek.

 

“For so long,” he admitted sadly, “I wanted to be a doctor. I don’t know what to do now. I mean, what happens if I can’t work in that field anymore? I don’t know what else to do with my life.”

 

Jarod covered the young man’s hands with his own, squeezing gently. “You can do whatever you want,” he urged. There’s only one thing that would stop you, and that’s a mental barrier you make in yourself to say ‘I can’t do it’.” He reached over and seized the Braille frame that was waiting on Mark’s desk, rapidly punching in nine letters and then sliding out the sheet, putting it under Mark’s hand. “Read that.”

 

Mark had already learned many of the rules of Braille in the hospital and ran a finger over the dots before lifting his eyes, an expression of curiosity in them. “Pretender? What’s that?”

 

“It’s what I am,” Jarod admitted. “And what you are. A Pretender is a person who can do anything they want to, just by reading a book about it, like childbirth, for instance,” he added in a teasing tone. “Remember when Sydney told you about all the different jobs I did, the racing car driver and others?”

 

“Sure.” Mark’s eyes danced with subdued laughter. “And I found it pretty hard to imagine…”

 

“Well, that’s how,” the older man confessed. “Sydney was the person who taught me to use my skills, for various things that I’ll tell you about one day, but aren’t particularly relevant to this. What is relevant is that you’re one as well. That test I did on you just after Christopher was born proved it to me, although I’d already begun to suspect.”

 

“But what does it mean?”

 

Jarod smiled. “It means that there’s no limit on what you’re able to do. Once you set your mind to something, you’ll do it. So when you decide that you want to work again, all you have to do is find something that interests you and you’ll have no difficulty in doing something in that field. It’s also why you learn so quickly.”

 

There was a moment of silence before Mark spoke again. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

 

“It didn’t seem to matter, just like it doesn’t matter to me so much now. I’m a surgeon, but I know that, if I need to, I can turn my hand to something else easily. It’s a huge benefit in that respect, and I think you’ll find it very useful as well, particularly with the way things have changed.”

 

Part 21

 

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