Chapter 35 #2
Later that day, when Marguerite had left to settle in at her hotel, a doctor entered the room. Hudson hadn't seen him before. He was young, serious-faced, his English laced with a slight German accent. Dr. Bauer—his name tag read.
He went through the latest scans. The swelling had reduced but not as quickly as they’d hoped.
Elliot remained unresponsive to external stimuli.
They were adjusting the medication. He was no longer intubated, because he was breathing fine on his own.
Still, he didn’t wake. It was like his body wasn’t ready.
Bauer said these things took time—sometimes days, sometimes longer.
There was no way to predict the outcome.
“What’s the worst case?” Hudson asked.
“We don’t anticipate—”
“I know you don’t anticipate it. I’m asking what it is.”
There was a long pause, then Bauer exhaled.
This was definitely not his first time with military patients and their next of kin.
“Prolonged unconsciousness. Potential cognitive deficits depending on the extent of damage we haven’t been able to fully assess.
” He stopped there, but the rest of it didn’t need to be said.
“Thank you.” Hudson nodded. “I appreciate you being straight with me.”
After the doctor left, Hudson sat very still for a long time.
“Elliot,” he whispered. “I want you to know that whatever happens—however you come back—I’m not going anywhere.” Tears pricked behind his eyelids. “But I also need you to come back as yourself because I have a lot of plans for us and I’d really like to argue with you about them.”
He studied Elliot’s face, looking for some sort of sign that he was still in there. That he’d heard him. An eye twitch, maybe? Or a little tug on the corner of his mouth? The almost smile Hudson loved.
Nothing.
Hudson pushed to his feet. “God, you’re a stubborn ass.”
Just when he was about to say he didn’t mean it, the door opened.
In strode General Shaw. Back straight. Head held high. His footsteps were deliberate, each one placed with precision, but when his eyes landed on Elliot, his steps faltered.
He came to a stop in the middle of the room.
This was the first time Hudson had seen General Shaw in person.
He was in full dress uniform. Tall, silver streaks in his dark hair, with a face that had Elliot’s structure and none of his warmth.
Same set features but something fundamental missing.
Like a house with all the right rooms but no light in any of them.
Even though it felt like betrayal, Hudson saluted him. “General.”
The General turned to face him, acknowledging the salute.
Hudson dropped his hands to his sides, clenching them into hard fists.
This was going to take all he had left in him.
“How long?” The General asked, his gaze locked on Elliot.
Hudson watched his face, looking for anything underneath all the architecture. A flicker crossed his features. Kind of. Hudson wasn’t sure. It could be wishful thinking. Hoping that Elliot’s father actually cared.
“Six days unconscious.” Hudson said. “The swelling is reducing. They say to give it time.”
The General nodded once and moved to the side of the bed—the opposite side from Hudson—and took in the sight of his son. He reached his right hand toward Elliot, but seemed to change his mind, withdrawing it immediately.
Without looking at Hudson he said, “Who authorized your presence here?”
“Major Okafor, sir. He made the necessary arrangements.”
The General focused all his attention on the crumpled linen on the bed, straightening it with an unexpected tenderness and care. “And your connection to Captain Shaw?”
Hudson kept his voice neutral. “We served together, sir. Selection, six years ago. And now in Syria. We’ve stayed close.”
The General finally raised his eyes and assessed him with a measured stare that made Hudson feel unbelievably small. “Close,” he repeated.
“Yes, sir.” Hudson cleared his throat. “He’s a good officer. The best I’ve ever worked with.”
That earned him a nod. “I’ll make sure you’re returned to your deployment.” It barely even had the courtesy of being a suggestion. “My assistant will arrange for your family to be notified.”
“Respectfully, sir—I’d like to stay.”
“There is no need. I’ll take it from here.” He walked toward the door.
“Sir,” Hudson said.
The General stopped. Slowly, he turned to face him.
Hudson crossed to the bed and reached for Elliot’s hand. His fingers threaded through Elliot’s, thumb caressing his cool skin. He locked his eyes on The General. “I’m staying.”
The General’s eyes went to their joined hands. To Elliot. He seemed stricken. Like he just realized what he’d lost. “I see,” he said.
Neither of them moved.
He glanced at his son one last time. Then back at Hudson. “See that he gets the best care.”
Then he was gone.
Hudson sank back down into the chair, not letting go of Elliot’s hand. “So,” he said. “I think I just outed you to your father.” He exhaled. “You can be mad at me about that later.”
He tightened his fingers around Elliot’s, pulling their joined hands up for him to rest his forehead on. He blew out a deep breath and closed his eyes.
“Well… that was a… dick move,” a hoarse voice croaked from the bed.
Hudson’s head snapped up.
Elliot’s eyes were open. Small slits, heavy-lidded, fighting the light. But open. Looking at him.
For what felt like forever, Hudson couldn't speak. Couldn't move. He was unsure if it was real. He had barely slept for days.
“H—Hey,” Elliot rasped. His voice was wrecked, dry and rough. “You're crying.”
“I’m— What? No—” Hudson touched his cheeks. “Oh. Is this… real?”
“I think so. You tell me. Aren’t you … trained in… situational awareness?” The words came out strangled.
A laugh escaped Hudson, taking him by surprise. He hadn’t laughed in a week, which was very unlike him. “Wow. I guess that answers my question.”
Elliot blinked slowly. His eyes tracked around the room clocking the monitors and the boards on the wall listing scan results and bloodwork. “Germany?”
“Landstuhl,” Hudson confirmed. He was still holding Elliot’s hand. Didn’t think he would ever let go of it. “You’ve been out for six days.”
The familiar machinery of Elliot’s brain seemed to be coming back online, processing, cataloguing. Even half-conscious he was doing the math.