Awakening

    Emmie woke slowly.  Her head throbbed and her eyes resisted opening.  There were voices arguing, quietly but heatedly.  The voices alternated between roaring through her ears and whispering  beyond her range.  Likewise, the bed she knew she rested on felt harder than stone, then she felt she was sinking in softness.  Emmie knew that her senses were not functioning correctly.  She guessed that if she opened her eyes, her sight would be distorted.  This could cause nausea and Emmie really did not like to throw up.  Of all the bodily processes, that was the one she hated and avoided at all costs.
    Keeping her eyes closed she waited for her other senses to gain their balance, to find their resting point. Gradually the bed maintained an even firmness, the room didn’t dip and sway.  The voices fell to a soft but urgent murmur and the sounds became distinct.  Words rather than a blur of sounds.
    “…saying, the brass was there and we had orders.  It wasn’t my choice-“
    “It is your responsibility to protect her, she is more important that the mission.  It’s not as if we have another Nightingale, trained or even coming into training.  You know what happened to Kay-“
    “This is nothing like that, don’t you even dare of bringing up Kay.  That situation was beyond the control of her Watcher.  That was a Committee decision, a horrible thing-“
    “You don’t have to tell me.  I wasn’t even given a chance to vote on that one-“
    “Well, then when you go report this to the Committee-
    “Darren-“
    “Don’t, Doc, I know you have to report it.  This can work in her favor.  Tell the Committee there needs to be a fail safe.  There needs to be a way for me to override an order.  A way to keep her from overdoing it.  There has to be a way for me to do my damn job.  You know how she is, how she’s been conditioned.  She will keep going until she kills herself if she is told to.”
    “I’ll do what I can.  There has been some talk of moving Emmie.  Ever since Kay…well let’s just say that Emmie seems to be the sum total of the Nightingale project.”
    “Emmie is it?  I know about Kay, but what about the two others?  And what about that boy?”
    “Darren, the two others suffered the same failure that Kay had.  We were able to…end the misery before it got too far, but in the end, we could do nothing.  The boy, his talent never manifested.  The Fort reported that in the end, he was an anomaly and they are continuing their line of talents, separate from the Tower.  All other attempts for another Nightingale have failed.  Most aren’t even-“
    Emmie listened to the conversation.  Confusion warred with curiosity.  As much as she wanted to hear more, to understand more, her confusion was causing her head to throb even more.  Despite her attempts to keep her eyes closed, they fluttered open and the flashes of light caused her stomach to turn.  She felt a sweat break out on her forehead.  Her stomach clenched and without being aware of how she got there, Emmie found herself  leaning over the side of the bed, heaving.
    Quick feet sounded through the horrible retching and Emmie felt hands gently holding her head and easing her back into the bed.  Carefully she was tucked back into the covers and her hair smoothed away from her face.  Only then did Emmie open her eyes fully.  The light flashed and her stomach rebelled and churned, but it was empty.
    Darren’s concerned eyes stared down at her.  Unfamiliar worry lines etched his face and he squeezed her hand reassuringly.  Beyond him Dr. Reyes was digging into the drug locker and filling a syringe.  As Darren used a wet cloth to wipe her face, Dr. Reyes injected the contents of the syringe into the port in Emmie’s IV.  It was only then that Emmie realized that she had the small catheter  placed into a vein the back of her hand.  A burning sensation traveled along her hand and into her arm.  Idly she felt the pathway the burning traced, the radial vein, the median cephalic to the cephalic vein.
    “Here, Emmie, I know how much you hate that.  This will help, but as you know, it will leave you tired.”  Dr. Reyes smiled, her face tight with concern, her eyes searching the monitors above Emmie’s bed. “Though, I think that sleep is what you need most.  You’ve only slept eight hours and given your efforts, I think you need more.”
    “Hey, Emmie, I’ve got to report in, fill out paperwork, but I’ll be back really soon.”  He gave her hand a final pat and stood.  Emmie noted that his uniform was wrinkled and sweat stained and rumpled.  His face had a shading of stubble when normally is was clean shaven.  He gave Dr. Reyes a knowing look and left.
    Emmie nodded and as he left she noticed she was in the ICU bed in the infirmary.  It was a confusing view for her.  She had only been in the infirmary a handful of times, to help Dr. Reyes and to study.  The cool green tiled walls didn’t seem so soothing.  The crisp smell of disinfectant rankled her nose.  She glanced at Dr. Reyes.  The woman was clearly upset, her dark eyes tired, her hair wisping  down from the up swept clip she usually wore so neatly.
    The short physician noticed Emmie looking at her and smiled down at her.
    “Do I look that bad?”  She forced a tired smile.
“No, not really, but you look far too worried for me to just need some sleep.”  Emmie tried to sit up and Dr. Reyes quickly moved the bed adjustments to incline her head.
    “Emmie, Emmie, Emmie, I guess there is no lying to you.  You have me terrified.”  She sat on the edge of the bed and tilted her head to the side.  It reminded Emmie of a gesture she had seen from a small bird once.  She had been staring out of a window instead of studying another dry text and a small dark brown bird had flown to the sill and peered in.  Emmie was certain that it couldn’t see her through the tinting, but when she had leaned her face down to see it, the bird had hopped closed.  Then it tilted it’s head slightly sideways, as if that gave it’s eye a better view.  When Emmie had reached out and touched the window, the small creature had flown off.
    Dr. Reyes didn’t draw back.  She gently held Emmie’s hand. “You went beyond you own limits.  You exhausted the energy reserve your own body needs to function. “  She frowned and hesitated. “About ten minutes out from the Tower, we got a report from the pilot that you stopped breathing.  You had respiratory failure.  Darren preformed rescue breathing and when you landed, we intubated you.  You have only been off the vent for about an hour. “  She seemed to be waiting, poised to hear Emmie’s response.
    “That explains the sore throat?” Emmie said, her mind clicking over the drama and latching safely onto the dry scientific facts.  Part of her panicked.  It had been her, not another who was in distress.  It was she, Emmie, the Nightingale of the Tower who needed help.  Part of her was interested in the way her body had coped with the energy loss, the exhaustion, possible electrolyte imbalance.  The part of her that was still a child held fear deep in her spirit.  A dry mouthed fear that made her toes curl even as her mind clicked over clinical terms and measures.
    “I am not going into your case with you in much detail.  It is-“
    “Against the rules.  What’s the plan now?” Emmie pushed her curiosity aside.  It was made easier by the fact that the anti-nausea drug was now hitting her system.  Her stomach no longer protested, but her limbs felt heavy and her eyelids weakened, begging to drift shut.
    “Rest, little bird, just rest.” Dr. Reyes patted her arm and rose.  Checking one last monitor she picked up her clipboard and walked out.  Emmie listened to the steady beeping on the monitor that was her heart.  Her mind was getting muted, the thoughts not coming clearly.  Vaguely she was surprised that her breathing failed and not her heart.  She must have a strong heart.  Maybe it had been her mother’s heart.  God bless you.  The phrase flitted through her mind.  She remembered the reverent way the young man had uttered the words.  It meant something.  She drifted, perplexed as to who would bless her, and with what.
    “Dr. Reyes,” she whispered, her mind fogging with the drug’s soporific properties, “Do you talk to God?”
    But the short woman had already turned and didn’t hear the small voice.