Ginger

Harry had painted and detailed the first of his pieces within a few hours. Colours, details, diagram and most of the information about it including it’s life cycle.

  Somehow, on the cloth of the padding of his wall it looked so much more real.

As Harry gazed at his work, he wondered, for perhaps the tenth, or twentieth time,why the walls were padded.

  Perhaps because of his eye…perhaps because he kept bumping into things…perhaps because he fell over sometimes, and perhaps because of the seizures.

  He soon lost the train of his thought and began on a second butterfly. The Swallowtail.

The hunger in his stomach didn’t deter him, but the medication, and it’s absence began to have something of an effect on him.

  He was drawing the larger of the wing veins when suddenly, the blue butterfly he was leaving to dry flapped it’s large wings beside him and took off.

“…Oh dear…” he mumbled, watching it flap around the room, and towards the light.

“oh no…no no..careful your highness…” he said, putting down the paintbrush. “…You’ll burn your wings…”

  He reached up to gently bat it away from the light built into the ceiling.

Making haste, Ginger gathered up his medications, nearly running to fetch him food as she realized her error. She had been so punctual about getting his medications, as the effects of being off them were dangerous.

Once she had his meal and pills gathered, she walked as briskly as she could while balancing them toward his room.

A quick rap on his door was her signification that she was coming in and she scanned her card to open the door.

“Merlin was trying to focus on the words.

The words…

  Focus on the words…

Tube in nose…two tubes…

‘… focus more on humanitarian and sustainability causes, focusing extensively on conservation…’

Valentine…

  His eyes opened a little more.

‘… Denver had a keen interest in solutions to world hunger. He visited Africa during the 1980s to witness first-hand the suffering caused by starvation and to work with African leaders toward solutions…’

  John Denver…

His eyes relaxed and although he didn’t have his glasses, and although his eyes were blurred from the cocktail of medication in his blood, he knew from the way she paused, the way she moved, she knew he was awake.

  He couldn’t bring himself to speak, the energy was far too much of a steep cost, but he could blink.

  He gave her the only thing he could.

One long, heavy blink.

His eyes were open and inside she let out a silent prayer of rejoice. Far from in the clear, his eyes opening would only be the very start. Gently, she placed her hand on his upper arm, one of the few places where he had no injuries.

When he blinked, she took that as a response. Or at the very least, a mode they could communicate with.

Harry smiled and nodded as she left before turning back to the wall and with excitement, that he should really have concealed more, he picked up his empty glass, and filling it with water from the faucet from his sink and plunged the paint brush into it to wet it.

  Watching the hairs on the brush become supple and limp in the water, he ran the brush head against the rim of the glass to drain the excess water, and worked the brush around the wad of waxy black paint.

  Seizing his book, he found the first page with the toilet paper Book mark and looked at the butterfly he’d selected.

Apatura Iris.

His majesty, The Purple Emperor.

  He walked up the wall, the paintbrush held between his fingers and began to hesitantly draw the outline of the butterfly from page 42.

Making her way back to her office, she made her mental list of things to do. First order of business was to work on the prototype exoskeletal arm. Stopping for a cup of coffee, she made little small talk with the agents there and then excused herself.

Once in the sanctuary of her work space, she opened the cabinet and withdrew the contraptions of wires and joints. Once she got down to work on it, she was hard to disengage. This meant that there was a near full cup of cold coffee at her elbow by the time lunch rolled around. However, it meant that she had gotten the elbow joint to bend within the normal range of human motion with little margin or error.

Working on her project, she ignored the reminder for lunch, trying to program wrist articulation into the many joints and connections of the machine. 

Merlin had been counting the voices…knowing them…not needing to know their names as he knew them intimately…

  The sharpened, unpolished almost stop-start-stop-start of the youngest, who spoke without hesitation. Bluntly and beautifully and brutally.

The melodic syrupy flow and twang of the other young one. A voice like a drop of Whisky on a cold night, with just a few slithers of Ice chips. Warming and at the same time, cool.

The brief, clipped tones with wonderfully executed vowels, and tightened consonants that hid a million and one thoughts that would never make it across the threshold of reluctant lips.

And now her…

  The voice that was gentle, and smart.

A Hummingbird. A brain so busy and fast. And the words so eloquently rounded and with such precision and delicacy that it almost seemed every conversation she had ever had and was ever going to have had been pre-written and practiced in advance…

  Merlin saw a slip of light

Just a slip.

And with it was movement.

His eyes…he could open his eyes.

Ah, but at what cost?

  He tried again.

Light. More light…and…dis…discomfort…

Not pain…discomfort…

Comfortable in the chair that she’d had brought in from the break room, Ginger had one leg crossed under her, the book resting in her hands as she read aloud. She had to admit, she was learning as she read, having never taken time to get into the origins of the singer.

Just as she closing the first chapter, she noticed that his arm had twitched. Glancing up, pushing glasses farther up her nose, she noticed that his eyes were cracked open. Pushing herself abruptly from the chair, the book set to the side, Ginger moved to his bedside.

“Merlin?” She asked quietly, not yet touching him. The weight of the moment, that he could be waking from a short coma was on her shoulders and she forced her breathing to be even and calm.

Harry looked to her and nodded. 

“The postman will ensure they are delivered. Our postman is awfully nice. I think he’s called Michael…” he mused and nodded to her, showing that he understood about the call button and when her hand moved to the medication, his smile faltered a little and his eye became wide in realisation he’d missed it.

“…Of course…” he nodded absently. “Of course, of course.”

  He put down the tin of paints with care and moved to take them, taking the glass of water and swallowing them down before turning back to her and handing the empty cup to her.

“…All gone, Ginger.” he smiled. “…Now you won’t worry, will you?”

She watched as he took the pills, feeling relief that she’d not have to push him anymore to take them.

“I’ll not worry now. Thank you.” Nodding her head with a smile as she took the empty cup. She cupped her hand around it and tucked it into her pocket, turning toward the door.

“I look forward to whatever project you’ve got in mind. Do enjoy yourself. I’ve got to tackle a mountain of paperwork with my name all over it.”

Merlin was in a deep, deep well of black ink for what felt like an eternity. Though he only became acutely aware of it when he was starting to feel things again.

  How long had he been here, like this.

 Slowly, he began to rise up…feeling the blackness around him like a thick, heavy smoke.

Like a wet blanket in a swimming pool.

And soon enough he was close enough to the surface to hear…

This was truly fascinating…if it was real at all..

Ginger had read to him until his companions arrived and it was then that she let them know that Merlin was stabilized and that he had a good prospect for coming out it as his wry self. Instantly she could see the two grown men on the brink of tears and she let them go and see him. She gave them a small amount of time alone with him before she ushered them out to debreif with Champ and get some rest.

Ginger sat with him, checking his vitals and maintaining the morphine that was making his rest seemingly peaceful. For the next several days, Tequila, Harry, Eggsy and herself took turns sitting with him, wanting someone to be there when he woke.

Harry nodded.

“You’re right.” he nodded. “…I imagine she’s already quite worried. I do hope she’s been receiving my letters.”

  He set the paints down on his table and nodded.

“Of course, Ginger. You’re my very good friend and I should like you to be the first to see it.”

He smiled warmly at her, with a look that could have melted dark chocolate.

“…Now, please. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be just fine.”

  With that he set about opening the delicate tin and admiring the colours inside, each one a little hard nugget of paint and imagined all of the wonders he could do with them.

“I’ve sent them off, so it’s just up to the postman then.” Ginger lied aptly. The collection of letters were in a box in her office, under lock and key because she didn’t have the heart to throw them away.

“Just press the button if you need me, or are ready to show me.” Extending a long finger toward the call button. “But please take your medicine, you know I will worry all day if I don’t see you take.”

Harry nodded. Understanding that she obviously had far more important things to track down than his fathers watch.

And by now, it had been so long it was likely destroyed, or stolen.

“Its alright Ginger.” he said kindly. “Thank you for looking…”

  He stood up as she pulled the watercolours from her pocket and tentatively moved towards her, his height diminished slightly as he bent to take them. “…I’d….I’d rather show you…when i’ve done…” he smiled, looking to her and tilting his head.

“…You know, Ginger…sometimes…you remind me of mother…When I’m better, I shall take you to see her. You’ll get along like a house on fire.”

“Not a problem Harry, I’ll keep my eye out for it still.” Ginger offered with a soft smile. 

He reminded her of a child so much in this moment and it tugged at her heart. She couldn’t help but smile brighter at the sheepishness of his behavior as she offered the paints over to him.

“I would like that Harry, but we need to focus on you getting better first. You’re mother would likely not be very happy if I left her son leave while he was still sick.” Playing along was hard, especially with the likelihood that his mother was dead and the home he knew would likely not be the same.

“You promise you will show me when you’re done? But you need to finish your breakfast and take your medication before you start anything today?” Her tone was that ‘clucking hen’ that Champ teased her for.

Harry nodded.

Yes. Champ didn’t like him having very much of anything.

“…I don’t suppose you’ve had any luck in finding fathers watch have you?” he asked, standing, his poise slightly hunched in the back, his fingers meeting awkwardly as his left thumb worried the loose skin of his right thumbnail.

  When she mentioned the watercolours, his smile grew.

“…Oh that is good news! I can finally begin my project!”

“No, no luck I’m afraid.” She offered, lying because in reality she had no idea where to even begin looking for this man’s father’s watch. As a part of his retrograde amnesia, he thought he was many years younger.

His brightened smile and renewed enthusaism was a balm on her stressed nerves. The happy go lucky nature of this man was at times, contagious.

As he laid there alone and with his sense of hearing currently muffled and essentially muted he pleaded in a soft whisper to let him die, to let the pain stop, to let his life end so he didn’t have to lay there in pain so severe that he couldn’t even register the full extend of it.

Slowly he grew cold, dizzy, and yet the pain never left, his eyes closing and cutting off yet another sense as he waited for what would come next. 

When he felt the people around him, the hands tending to nerve endings that were on fire, that made him groan in pain he cracked his eyes so slightly that you couldn’t tell they were even open.

Pain came with the pressure and he couldn’t hand the pain any longer, his body in shock his brain finally force him into a state of unconsciousness.

It was a tenuous situation and she did not rest for the whole duration of his transit. Even when Galahad² told her that they were enroute with the add on of Sir Elton John, she did not relax. She’d not told them that Merlin had survived, because there was always a chance that by the time they arrived, it would be a lie.

Waiting on the landing strip with a full triage team, her nerves were in knots. She didn’t know if the gel would work. In theory and study and logic, it all should work, but she knew that practice would be what made or break this. 

He’d been stabilized on the journey, so they immediately began treatment. His wounds were checked, shrapnel removed and she was using every medical tool in her disposal to save him.

Pain relief was adminstered heavily, but cautiously and once they had done all they could do, she washed up and slumped into a chair near his gurney.

Merlin couldn’t make any more sense of it, and knew if there were tubes, there was pain relief, blood, fluids…

Where was the relief?

Where was the cool, calm relief of morphine…the…clarity…if only he had clarity…instead of fire…

  His fingers tensed again as a wave of agony pushed through him, sending sweat cold on his skin.

  Shock…He was going into shock…wasn’t he?

Almost heaven, West Virginia

“…Nnnghhh!” Merlin grunted again, but god…it hurt to fucking breathe…

Blue Ridge Mountains

Pain was powering him…like circuit…going through him…igniting him…he was burned out…components…burned out…

Merlin tried to open his eyes but instead, just flickers of movement instead.

Biting her lip, she looked over his vitals. His heart rate was still spiking and from the grunt, it was obvious that what she had administered was not even touching the pain he was in. Safely, she could give him a touch more morphine, but she was wary of the potential side effects.

Still, she couldn’t stand by and let him suffer. Adding the dosage to the IV, she continued to monitor his vitals. It was the waiting game while they waited to see how much of his nerves could be repaired and saved with the alpha gel.

“Me? Stop trying for a gorgeous lady like you? Not until I’m good and dead.” He grinned, relieved more than anything else that he wouldn’t have to cut her down as an enemy.

“So. What do I call you now?”

“Good to hear, because I would hate to end this night on such a sour note.”

Thoughtful for a moment, she gave a shrug to his question.