Commitment

com�mit�ment: n. the act or an instance of official consignment to a prison or mental health facility.





Leo knows not to let him come see her. He�s been told too many times that it�s bad for her. As if the nurses care what�s bad for her. They only care because it�s more work than usual when they have to try calm her. Pills after pills and session after session with the great Doctor Skinreid and she can barely get out of her mind everything she did wrong.

She�s not depressed. Truly. She�s just a little down. Or so she tells Nurse Rayne when she stops by her room. If only they would leave her alone. If only she could think, could get some time to get back on her horse. She�d remember her work, her life. She�s sure she could fix what�s wrong with her on her own. Even before coming, she never really trusted doctors. She trusted only two, really and she hasn�t seen one in months.

Has it been that long? She chews on her fingernails. No one cares how she looks here. It�s why she stopped chopping off her hair. That, and because they always watched her like a bomb about to go off whenever sharp objects were around. As if she would try to use them.

Never again, she had promised. Not to the nurses or Skinreid, but to the people who mattered. Even if she�s been told it�s wishful thinking, she doesn�t want her grandmother to see her to do something so shameful. Anyway, she�s seen what happens to the girls who try, and as much as she hates the checks and the therapy, she�d rather that, than the blank-walled cell she�s seen Katie and the Irish girl disappear into, any day.

No visits there, not even from Leo.

She�s told she shouldn�t think about him when he�s not here. It puts her in foul spirits and then she might have another episode. That�s what they�re calling her: episodic. Like a TV programme. She�s the next Coronation Street.

�Oh, why have you gone and done that?� asks the nurse standing next to her on the bench. She looks up surprised. She forgot she�s never alone.

Her fingers relax around the charcoal although she feels like hanging onto everything that�s hers ever so tightly � she�s entitled to, after the struggle she and Leo went through to have her drawing materials allowed in her room. They still won�t let her use brushes or paint. They�re afraid she might do something silly� and yet she�s the one they call paranoid.

She�s not. She can just see a little clearer than others. It�s why she�s surprised she didn�t see the pretty landscape she had drawn before scribbling Coronation Street all over it. The lines mix now, O�s and E�s becoming tree branches and she wonders if her work is well and truly ruined.

Well who would care if it was? An hour today, an hour tomorrow, all wasted, but she doesn�t have anywhere to be, anyone to see.

The nurse � she�s new and her name-tag recalls none of Katie�s stories � helps her rip the page out of her notebook sympathetically and motions for her to start anew. It�s kind, but highly frustrating. Leo has told her repeatedly that this is a good institution � one of the best � though sometimes it feels more like a country club for people with no place in society than a mental hospital. But perhaps that�s what they are, she and Katie and the Irish girl� undesirables.

When she sniffles and the nurse asks if she�s alright, she lies. She�s learned crying is viewed as a symptom, not an emotional purging.

�I�m a little cold,� she says instead and within minutes a shawl is wrapped around her shoulders, despite it being almost the end of spring. It�s alright; at least here she doesn�t have to explain herself.

�There we go,� coos the nurse as if speaking to an infant and she understands why her grandmother hated dealing with health workers. �Now, what will you draw next?�

A train wreck, she wants to say, but forces a smile to her pursed lips instead. It�s a game, Katie told her before she was shipped off. They ask, you lie. Poor teenaged Katie, she thinks, with all her stories and her fear of being touched. She never could understand what had happened to her, or why she was here. Katie had played the game with � or rather, against her � all the time. And like the doctors and the nurses, she had always known.

They�ve all lost something, she thinks. For Katie, it was her ability to see the truth. For her, it�s her self-esteem, her will. She doesn�t want to disappoint Leo � she would have thought to say her father, had she any idea where he is now. A postcard from Japan reached her months before she got to the institution and she hadn�t replied. It's now probably under piles of old mail and reports that will never be tended to.

It doesn�t matter. She remembers to smile when she sees another nurse come down the lawn, her frown holding even in the fresh morning air. It�s time then, Leo�s come and she�ll able to remember what it felt like to be Doctor Nikki Alexander for an hour. Like a child, she brightens up and stands, ready to be lectured and led on a short trip to her life.

�Is he here?� she asks before she can stop herself. They must not find her too agitated or they�ll think she�s about to have episode.

The second nurse � she hasn�t learned their names, even after all this time, and there�s too much of a reflection on her name-tag � is out of breath and as she huffs and puffs, she feels like grabbing hold of her shoulders and shaking her. Is he here? Yes or no. Simple answer. Don�t tease.

She never did like being teased. Until she met Harry, but she mustn�t think of him.

�Professor�� the nurse pants, �Dalton� couldn�t make it.� When there�s bad news to deliver, not even an asthma attack can stop the torrent of words.

�Oh,� she mutters, crossing her arms. Their eyes are on her and she hates the way her nurse tries to stroke her back. She�s not some dog that everyone can pet. And she�s not a child. She�s a woman. She�s Doctor Alexander, even if Leo isn�t here to see it.

Dignified, she turns to resume her drawing. If they expect her to cause a scene, they can keep dreaming.

�There�s something else you should know,� says the nurse before she can sit down. �He sent someone else instead.�

She won�t let her imagination run wild. No sense in raising her hopes only to have them dashed; she�s learned that the hard way. �Who?� she asks, pulling the shawl closer to her body even as she feels hot all over.

�Now stay calm,� the nurse motions with her hands, �if you won�t want to see him, it�s fine, alright? There�s no need to get agitated, yeah?�

�Alright,� she breathes, becoming more annoyed as they tried to keep her calm. �Can I at least know who it is, then?� She doesn�t need to be protected, thank you very much. If they�d at least tell her the whole truth, she�d be able to make her own choices. She�d feel responsible, useful.

Leo doesn�t shelter her. He never has. So who could he have sent? Mumford with a case? Tim? One of his friends with a degree in psychology?

The nurse looks apologetic. �It�s Professor Cunningham.�

�Oh.� She can�t think of what to say. How do you respond to the news of your ex-fianc� coming to visit you in a mental institution for the first time in months? How do you respond, knowing said ex-fianc� was the one who found you on your wedding day with a dead body at your feet and who supported the decision that you be put in a mental institution in the first place?

Again: �Oh.�

�It�s alright if you don�t want to see him, yeah?� says the nurse and she feels like rolling her eyes.

They don�t want her upset; they don�t want her bubbling with joy. They don�t want her fretting, they don�t want her catatonic. What is it they want from her, really?

�I�d like to see him, actually,� she answers and unsurprisingly, it�s an honest enough reply. Leo must have put pressure on him to come, so she wouldn�t feel forgotten and it wouldn�t be bad to see how he looks. She knows how he should have looked right about now: like a husband, but when has life worked out in her favour?

She stifles the thought that things weren�t so bad when she first met him, but can�t quite suppress the slight anxiety evident in her every more. She hopes the nurses don�t notice as she�s lead towards the ward, but if they do, neither mentions it. There�s much she should be thankful to them for, yet this is the first time she�s ever felt like saying thank you.

The sunlight fades in the day-room and between game-tables and fellow nutters, she makes her way towards her room. It�s not as depressing a journey as she thought when she first got to the hospital. She�s become used to these visits to the point of looking forward to contact with the world outside her beautiful prison.

Doctor Skinreid has been kind enough to allow her entertain in her own room, provided she takes her pills on a daily basis. Though she used Leo�s unrealistic sensibilities as excuse for the exception to the rule, in truth, it�s because here at least, she can pretend delusional disorders and schizophrenia are not part of her everyday life.

She thanks her nurses and waits until both them and their worried glances have gone around the corner, before entering. They�ll check on her in forty minutes if there�s no screaming, anyway. They always do, whether because they�re nosey or they don�t trust her, it doesn�t really matter.

She doesn�t look around until she has closed the door and then she needs a moment. Everything she does these days seems to require a moment to come to terms with, or to prepare for.

�Hey, is everything alright?� he asks from behind her and� oh God, his voice hasn�t changed at all.

�I�m� I�m okay,� she answers, suddenly very much aware of her appearance. Nothing about him has changed; she almost feels as if she should be trying on her wedding dress.

No, that was long time ago.

�Please, sit down,� she tells him, trying to sound hospitable. It�s hard to pretend her room isn�t a cell when there�s only a bed, a chair and a desk. When he takes the chair, she can only sit on the bed and then it feels like one of her therapy sessions. That�s the first thing that makes her realise how different he is from Leo.

�So�� What do you say to you say to a man whose tear-stained face haunts your ever dream? How do you catch up on months of silence?

He�s studying her intently and she shuffles. How strange she must look, with her hair too long and her large sweater. She�s a different woman, but he looks like the same man. Is he still?

�Nikki,� he says her name and she shivers. After all this time, he still gives her butterflies. But he�s not at ease in this place. She can read his wondering gaze and it spells restlessness. It�s there in the way he sighs, the way he wipes his hands against his knees.

�I didn�t expect to see you here,� she supplies when the silence stretches for too long. �Leo rarely even mentions you.� Which isn�t to say she never asks. But she�s certain he�s mindful of what he tells her. They all are.

He smiles and shrugs and looks much younger. Is this what their son would have looked had she not miscarried? �He had to attend a hearing today. He tried to get out of it, but you know how it is.�

She doesn�t, but she nods anyway. �I�m glad you came,� she says and it�s the truth. Though it makes her heart beat a little louder and her hands shake, she feels more alive than she�s felt in months. Let her nurses worry, she feels� content.

�I wanted to see how you were,� he tells her, smiling. �I�ve wanted to come for a while, but I was told�� She nods. He was told her mental health was too fragile. That she couldn�t handle seeing such vestiges of what she�s lost at the hand of that man.

Thoughts of wedding days fade as he takes her hand and she�s drawn into the present.

�So, how are things?� He�s smiling, looking so honest, so much like he did that day. Why had he been late?

�Things are� good.� She returns his smile, betting he�s never been late a single time after that. Punctuality is probably his biggest pursuit. How does he handle seeing rape victims these days? Murders? Young girls that look a little too much like her? Certainly no better than she handles her nightmares.

They talk of Leo and work, for a while, but neither is used to chitchat anymore. She, because she�s only spoken to Leo and her nurses and fellow inmates, as she calls them; he, because it�s her, his almost-wife.

�Haven�t any of your friends come to visit?� he asks after a while. Of course, he wouldn�t know about the way they shunned her after the trial. She never spoke of it and he never did ask.

�It�s� it�s good of you to come,� she tells him instead, not wanting to deal with the bitterness of memories, �to bring me news. All I hear is from Leo and, well�� She trails off. She doesn�t really know what to talk to him about. Besides work and Leo, all they had in common is now gone. It�s ancient history anyway, she thinks and lets go of his hand.

There�s the briefest flash of hurt across his gaze, but she doesn�t dwell on it. He recovers quickly, though his smile is all pretence. His hands come together in absence of hers to hold and he looks up at her with unveiled affection. It�s warm and familiar, for a second, before she remembers she left all that behind and a sob gets lost in her voice.

�But, err�� he begins, �that�s not the only reason I�m here.�

�Oh?� she asks, genuine curiosity taking over her doubts and worries.

Seemingly encouraged by her manner, Harry tilts his head to the side and she remembers the night he looked at her that way and told her she would make a great mom. How well that turned out indeed� So good a mother that she couldn�t even keep their baby alive.

�Yeah� didn�t� didn�t they tell you?� he�s unsure when he speaks and she wonders where he determined colleague, her passionate fianc� has gone. Is he still there, under the promotion and the nice clothes? Under the fixed smile and the uneasiness?

If not, who is she dealing with and why is he here?

She makes an effort to sound nonchalant. That�s how Doctor Alexander would have behaved. �They�re not usually the most forthcoming with information,� she tells him, straightening her back against the cool wall. �I�m susceptible, so it�s basically a matter of what I don�t know can�t hurt me.� She means to say it with a smile, but somewhere along the line, the delivery turns bitter and she only realises when his expression changes.

�I�m sorry�� he begins, but she cuts him off.

�No!� Pity is the one thing she never wants to see in his eyes again. She saw it in court and she sees it still during her therapy sessions. But he must not pity her. She�d rather have him think her a murderer, or insane, but not helpless.

Her voice is rising and so is she. The bed feels too soft for the strength of her emotions. They wash over her like a waterfall, drowning her, bringing her down. She wants to call for her nurse. Why hasn�t she come? She looks at the clock on the bedside table. Only fifteen minutes into the visit and look at her! She�s weak, so weak� She wasn�t even strong enough to save their child, she�

�Shh, hey, shh.� Harry�s there and his arms still fit perfectly around her. It�s enough to make her mad; it�s enough to cure her.

�Why have you come?� she asks in between sobs and her voice is muffled by his thick jacket. What�s he doing dressing like this? What�s he doing invading her blissful hell? She doesn�t know if she asks all that, but she can feel his hold tighten around her shoulders in response.

�Nikki, love,� he whispers and she can feel more tears wet his clothes, his hair. �I�m sorry, I�m so terribly sorry� I shouldn�t have let them��

�What�s going on in here?� asks a strong female voice from the door and she feels partly relieved that someone has come to save her from this deluge. �You sir, should leave right now!�

She feels her pull Harry away, trying to disengage his arms, but there�s no denying him. Whoever said hell hath no fury like a woman wronged, obviously had never seen a man who, on the same day, had lost both wife and child at the hand of a criminal his own investigation had put in prison.

�No!� he protests, jerking his arm free of the nurse�s grasp. �No, I�m not going anywhere!� His fingers take hold of her face and though she�s crying, he forces her to meet his eyes. �Do you hear me, Nikki? I�m not going anywhere.� How strange that they should both be crying�

�But sir� Professor Cunningham, this isn�t good for��

�From now on, my wif�� he catches himself, �Nikki can decide that for herself.� His right hand brushes her chest for the briefest of moments and she feels her breath catch. Even after all this time, he can still ignite that sliver of passion she thought had been extinguished. She draws back, still shy to be held, touched, by anyone and sees him holding an envelope out to the nurse.

�What�s that?� she asks, knowing he would always tell her the truth. Not for him, withholding information. Not for him, to protect her from herself. At least, he�ll give her that.

He looks at her for a long moment, gaping. �Your father, as your only living relative, signed your release papers,� he says and she pulls back unconsciously. �I� I would have done it myself but I couldn�t because, well��

�My release papers?� she repeats, incredulous, watching her nurse frown as she sizes up the facts.

�Leo told me you had asked to do it yourself,� he reminds her, searching her face with obvious apprehension. Yes, she had done that. She had been told it was impossible. That she wasn�t ready to make that decision for herself� �It took a while to get in touch with your father,� he adds, apologetically, once she agrees to meet his eyes.

She sniffles back tears. �Where� where was he?�

�Haiti, actually,� Harry supplies and she exhales sharply. Of course. He wouldn�t wait long in Japan, in case she sent an answer and asked him to come home. She hadn�t even thought that he would be the one to give her back her life. She had been so convinced she didn�t need him�

�Those need to be taken to Doctor Skinreid,� she suggests, shaking her head. The last thing she needs now is an audience to her private life. Her nurse looks unconvinced, but if Harry is serious, then there�s nothing that any of them can do. She�s out of their control and she doesn�t know how to respond to his inquisitive gaze.

Once again alone, she stands up and moves out of his reach before his hands recall the things her mind would rather not.

�Tell me this isn�t a joke,� she pleads, her arms crossed and fingers digging into her sweater. �Tell me this isn�t a dream��

He�s on his feet in an instant, following her blindly and looking at her with the same look he wore long ago, when he asked her to marry him. She had said yes then, because he could make her do foolish things like that. But she had never regretted it. Is this another foolish thing? Another thing she�ll never regret except as catalyst for something horrible and unstoppable? Or will they be happy? Will it work this time, or has he put other maniacs in prison that will come hunt them down on their wedding day?

�I should never have agreed to let you go in the first place,� he tells her, cupping her cheeks with heated palms and careful fingers. Fingers that have touched her intimately; fingers that have hovered over her abdomen when she told him of their son� �I�ve been such a fool, such a� a coward!� He�s smiling and crying at the same time and somehow, she finds herself holding onto him as well as holding him. �I should have kept you with me� I should have gone with you to therapy, I should have��

She blocks his incriminations with a hand over his lips and she thinks she truly may be crazy for laughing at the picture they must make. He has freed her, though she hadn�t realised she was in a cage. It�s not the envelope or the papers bearing her father�s signature, but the words he�s just uttered, it�s the way he holds her� it brings back memories and it brings a promise of a future that looks less like Coronation Street by the moment.

�I never blamed you,� she tells him, shaking her head, �for anything. Never� not when he found me, not when I signed myself in� not a single day since then.� His face is hot, wet with tears and sorrow and kissing him feels like summer, like rain. They were happy, this time last year.

The nurse returns, but her presence isn�t enough to make either of them let go of the other. Something strong binds them now and no frown or embarrassed cough can break it, propriety be damned.

�Doctor Skinreid would like to talk to you before you go, Miss.� She�s short with them, but whether it�s because she thinks they are indecent or because it�s her way with � what now is a - former patient, Nikki doesn�t care. She would have sought her approval, months before� before Katie and the small white room. Before Harry. But now she has hope�

Harry sniffles and grins. �Doctor Skinreid?�

She shrugs, pressing her nose into his cheek and inhaling his scent. He�s the same� Can she pretend to be the same? Maybe if she tries hard enough, she�ll be the same as she was� she�ll forget all the pain and the fear.

�Harry�� she doesn�t finish, because her hands are already fisting in his coat and he must feel her tense against him.

�I�m not letting you go. Never again.� His voice is barely a whisper, but it�s a promise. It�s something she can grab onto. �Never again, Niks.�

She calms her breathing. She�s learned to do it in all these months of sleeping alone in a foreign room. Even as they make their way down the corridors of a place she�s called home for so long, she knows what Doctor Skinreid will say. That she�s not ready. That it won�t be easy. That she won�t make it. That he doesn�t know what he�s dealing with.

A single look in his direction tells her all she needs to know. He loves her still. He never stopped and she hasn�t either. It�s not going to be easy getting her life back. It wasn�t any easier losing it. But she�ll do it. She�ll survive and she won�t be alone.

His hand in hers, she opens the door.


The End.

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