PATRIOTS: Ooooh, yeah!
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Simone heard very little of what Dr. Ramaswami said after, "Sage is still alive." Her condition, evidently, remained precarious but she was holding her own. She even bucked herself off the ventilator once she was situated in the ICU.
"I want to see her," Simone interrupted the steady flow of detailed medical information.
"Of course," Dr. Ramaswami replied. "ICU restricts visitors to just two per hour."
"Mom, I'll go with you," Brook stated with confidence in spite of her distraught appearance.
Simone turned away from the Doctor to face her daughter. She gently caressed Brook's fevered, tear streaked face. Brook seemed to melt under her mother's tender handling.
"No dear, you won't. Greg is going to take you back to the house so you can pull yourself back together and get your father. Greg, would you do that for me?"
"Of course, Mrs…Simone," Greg corrected himself in mid reply.
"He'll do no such thing. I want to see Sage! I have a right! She's my…"
Brook was nearly hysterical.
"This isn't the time for dramatic nonsense, Brook. Stop worrying about yourself and try to think about what Sage needs. When she wakes up she'll be in pain and confused and frightened. She'll need to be comforted by both her MOTHER and her FATHER. Your presence, as much as you love her, would be too distressing, I fear," Simone's hushed words reduced Brook's tirade to muffled sobs.
"Come on, Babe, your Mom's right. Let me take you home. Once you clean up, get some food into you then you'll be better able to help Sage," Greg whispered in Brook's ear while he guided her out the door.
Simone breathed a heavy sigh before steeling herself to her next task, "Gareth."
He climbed to his feet thinking he would escort his mother to Sage's bedside.
"You're exhausted. Take the car and go home. Don't come back until you've slept for a few hours."
"But, but," he stuttered in disbelief.
"No, buts. Go home. Get some sleep. Ms. Ayer, you're with me. Doctor, if you would just show us where to go…,"
"Oh no," Tristan bolted out of her chair and took three steps toward the door, "I'm not going anywhere but home."
"Really," the sinister edge in Simone's voice stopped Tristan in her tracks. "Perhaps you're right. Maybe you should go home. I'm sure we can get that nice police detective to drive you. She'd probably be rather interested in seeing your apartment."
Tristan turned wide eyed to Simone, "What have you done? What did you stash in my crib?"
"Oh, how very urban of you, Dear."
"Don't play with me, lady! I've had kind of a bad day what with falling off a building and having my arm ripped out of its socket then shoved back in again. My patience with you ain't gonna hold out much longer. What kind of shit did you stash at my place?" Tristan gritted out.
"I'm sure I have no idea what you mean, Ms. Ayer." Simone smiled but it was in no way friendly, "While I would much prefer you join me so you can chronicle this disaster, you are free to leave. Gareth can get that detective or call a cab to give you a lift back to your hovel. It makes no difference to me. I'll be alright. I'll probably give a call to my spiritual advisor, the Cardinal. Maybe, Sister Mary Margaret can join us in a bedside vigil. She has so many wonderful stories about the orphans in her care. It makes me want to meet each child personally."
Tristan felt her cheeks burn with pent up anger but she knew Simone was not a woman who made idle threats, "Fine, you got me. I get the message. Especially when it's one of your patented heavy handed numbers: I'm your bitch. Tell me what you want me to do."
Simone gave an angry sneer, "Just do as you're told, Ms. Ayer."
No matter how long Tristan stared at Sage, she could not reconcile the shattered body before her with the brooding young woman who had most likely saved her life. Sage's skin was paler than the sheet she laid on. The right side of her face was marked with an angry rope burn running from cheek bone to chin. Livid welts were creeping out from her shoulder blades toward her neck. But, it was her left arm which continued to draw Tristan's attention. It was propped up on pillows at such an odd angle it looked like it might not even be part of Sage's body anymore. It was bloodied and blue and black and swollen. Several pieces of metal were drilled into the bones and connected to each other on a length of hinged surgical pipe. The doctor explained the limb was only pieced together. It would need several more surgeries if Sage survived. However, Dr. Ramaswami did not hold any hope out for functional return of gross or fine motor movement.
"Please," Tristan finally broke the suffocating silence, "tell me she's right handed."
Simone shifted her position in the uncomfortable plastic chair she occupied next to Sage's bedside in order to face Tristan. "And, here I thought you were some sort of investigative reporter. I would think you would know such an important detail like that about an up and coming artist. Sage is left handed."
"It was a simple question. No need to be pissy," Tristan felt the need to defend herself.
"My daughter may not survive the night, Ms. Ayer. I believe I have the right to be…pissy."
"Did you bring me in here just to make me feel bad?" Tristan hissed at the older woman.
Simone quietly considered the question for several long moments before answering. "Yes, I guess I did bring you in here just to make you feel bad."
"Well, you got what you wanted. I feel fucking horrible," Tristan confessed.
Simone's eyes softened and the edge left her voice, "Why?"
Tristan swallowed back her tears to answer, "Because she's hurt. Her bones are broken. She might not live. She's suffering…,"
Simone laughed.
"What? What could possibly be funny?"
"Don't you think Sage was suffering when you put on your little show at the press conference? How do you think she felt when you divulged her biological mother to the whole world?"
"Tried to divulge…" Tristan corrected. "I didn't get to finish my sentence before Super Girl tackled me. And, the story's dead. Your lawyers' threats have my publishers so scared they're ass up, hunched over their balls."
"Tisk, tisk, what a shame? But, you could run the story on your trashy little web site," Simone taunted, "if you're absolutely sure you have all your facts straight."
Tristan sat back in her chair, wincing at the pain in her wounded shoulder. "I can prove Sage was adopted but that's all…for the moment."
"Keep digging in the garbage, dear. It really does suit you."
"Mom…,"
The singular syllable ended the tit for tat between the two women. Each jumped to their feet and crowded over the bed.
"Sage, I'm right here," Simone reassured her waking daughter.
Sage forced her eyes open. A smile followed; weak but a smile none the less. Simone clutched Sage's hand in an effort to ease her rising panic. If Sage was smiling something must be wrong. Simone worried about undetected brain damage. Or, perhaps the pain medication dosages were too high.
"Mom, it was so beautiful. I saw it. I saw it break free," Sage clutched Simone's hand as she struggled to get her thoughts into words.
"Saw what, honey?"
Sage swallowed and grimaced at the metallic taste in her mouth but she pressed on with her telling of the most wonderful dream of her life, "The corner stone. I saw it come to life. I know exactly how he looks. I've got to get back out there."
"You're kidding, right?" Tristan couldn't contain shocked retort.
Sage frowned as she focused on the reporter standing next to Simone, "I thought I dropped you. What'd you learn how to fly?"
It was Tristan's turn to frown, "Bounced. I bounced."
Sage appeared satisfied with the answer and turned her attention back to Simone. As she did so, her grin returned, "Mom, I've got to get back out there. Tell them I want to go home. I feel fine. I've never ever felt better. Please, help me get dressed. Where are my pants?"
When Sage turned her head to look for her clothes she saw her arm for the very first time.
"That doesn't look too good." She paused a moment and the smile left her face. "I can't feel it. If it looks that bad then it should hurt like Hell. Why can't I feel my arm? Mom," Sage looked back and saw a tear trailing down Simone's cheek. "Mom?" The gravity of the situation hit her like a lightning bolt, "Oh, no. Mom! Mom, help me!"
"Sage, be calm," Simone kept a firm grip on Sage's right hand and began to stroke her brow with her free hand.
"MOM! Why can't I feel my fingers? What's wrong with my arm? MOM! HELP ME, MOM!"
"Get the nurse, now!" Simone shouted to nobody in particular as she kept her eyes on Sage.
Tristan did as she was told. She race to the nurses station and sent them hurrying toward the bedside emergency. But, she didn't follow them. Instead, Tristan ran; out of the hospital, out into the night. And, she didn't stop running until she made it back to her own apartment, under her own covers, and as hidden from Sage's heartbreaking story as she could get.