Rebirth. So oft talked about, celebrated in movies and literature. To be pushed again through that amnion and expectorated into life, refreshed and renewed. Was that what he was hoping for? That fateful night where seconds ticked by in acrid droplets that burned through the membranes of his memory. The one where his persona - that richly cerebral being, all logic and computations and calculations, cracked open like a chrysalis that ached to metamorphose.
Rebirth. Was this rebirth, then? Was this some fucking rejuvenation? The reset he needed so goddamn badly in his life, or was it nothing more than some giddy illusion of renewal that happened in the final moment before death? Whatever it was, he couldn't give a fuck anymore. This moment was a new nadir, a new depth he'd never sunk to before, and he'd be damned if life could get any lower than this right now. The only thing he knew for sure was that he would greet Death that night.
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"She's gone into V-fib!"
"Charging...ready. Clear!" Shock.
"V-fib, no pulse!"
"Charging...ready. Clear!" Another shock.
Aidan watched in silent horror as they tried to restore the normal sinus rhythm of her heartbeat. Thankfully her heart had gone into fibrillations - it wasn't pumping per se, merely twitching out of synchrony. The defibrillator would restart the heart's natural rhythm, converting the chaotic spasm of the cardiac muscles into a proper functional beat. Aidan's own heart had almost ceased beating, drowning in a deluge of emotions that he wasn't ready to handle.
"V-fib, still no pulse!"
"Charging...ready. Clear!" Strike three.
Finally, her heart kicked back into action and started beating on its own accord. The alarms quieted down and the doctors were visibly relieved. She still wasn't out of the danger zone, but she was alive. They just stood in their places around her, still watching for any signs of cardiac instability. The machines continued to beep in contentment, reporting normal values for all her vitals. Good heart rate, respiration normal.
He was still numb with shock when one of the doctors came out and started talking to him. Aidan just nodded blankly at the doctor's words. He could only catch bits and pieces of the conversation, having been a little lightheaded throughout the whole ordeal. From the snatches he had gathered, it sounded like she was going to be okay.
"...stabilized, in good condition..."
"...under strict monitoring...watch for any developments..."
"...was a rare complication, shouldn't be a recurring problem..."
Even so, he couldn't quite process it. Feeling a little overwhelmed, he just excused himself and started walking towards the mens washroom. The insides of his mouth felt like sandpaper and his skin had gone cold and clammy. He turned on a tap and started to splash water all over his face hoping that it would help him to sober up.
Looking up, he saw his reflection in the mirror and couldn't recognize the man that was staring back at him. The man in the mirror had the look of a hunted animal. Shaken, he tried to regain his composure and continued to wash his face. Only then did he realize that his hands were trembling violently.
For the first time in many years, Aidan cried. It started as a hollow sob, a listless gasp that turned into a choked cry of anguish. After all that had happened tonight, his sanity was hanging by a thread. The same could be said for her life.
How was it that yesterday night they were discussing office gossip over mouthfuls of seafood and sangria and today her heart stopped beating for eight minutes? She was quite literally dead in both the medical and legal sense for eight minutes. Gwyneth went over to the afterlife and came back. The grief came down in torrents, destroying whatever was left of his already brittle psyche.
Fear.
Fear. The fear of losing her was such a visceral reaction, he actually felt like retching. The nausea hit him hard, inciting a gurgle of dry heaves. He felt sick to the marrow. Then there was the guilt of knowing that this was all his fault.
If only he had been more vigilant. If only he had possessed the foresight to anticipate this. If only they were prepared. If only he was less arrogant. If only she was protected. Safety deigned a price far beyond any fortune could have afforded, and he knew it. His only option now was to hope that his mistake wasn't a fatal one.
The teardrops mingled with the water on his face. There was no point in holding back now. Fear. Love. Grief. Guilt. All these years, he had thought that he was immune to this kind of crap. He'd prided himself on being the master of his feelings, displaying excellent control in every aspect. It had been so easy to laugh off the woes of those gripped by emotions - he'd made good on every opportunity to mock these poor people.
Other than anger, which was his default setting anyway - he only felt whatever he chose to feel. Not anymore. Now he was totally spent, having been burned to the core. If getting to him had been their plan then well, mission fucking accomplished. They'd chosen the perfect spot and struck him precisely at his Achilles' heel.
The tears didn't last long but they made a significant enough impact. Feeling quite depleted he cleaned himself up and made himself presentable before shuffling back out in a daze. Michael offered to let him go in to see Gwyeth, saying that she was in a stable condition and that it wouldn't hurt for him to just go in and talk to her. Aidan hesitated, being worried for her well-being but upon Michael's insistence that it was totally safe, he was more than happy to take up the offer.
Michael pushed open the glass sliding doors of her room and stepped aside to let Aidan through.
"Wait," Aidan remembered at the last minute. "Can I borrow your stethoscope?"
Michael looked a little baffled but dipped his hands into the pocket of his labcoat and fished out the instrument without asking any questions. He would be observing them from outside anyway. Aidan closed the door behind him and moved towards the bed, his heart thumping painfully in his chest.
When he got a good look at her his heart gave a little lurch. Looking at her, you wouldn't think that she had just narrowly escaped with her life. There was nothing to indicate what had happened other than a small wound on her left cheek which was already beginning to swell, partially hidden by the oxygen mask on her face.
The room was silent apart from the constant beep of the monitors. He settled into a chair beside her bed and leaned forward to be closer to her. Not even the injuries could mar the alluring features of her face. She didn't look like she was in pain, she just looked like she was sleeping. Serene, happy and comfortable like she was in his bed.
He wondered if she was dreaming. If she was, was she currently having nightmares about the incident? Did her mind just totally black out as a protective mechanism to survive the trauma? Could her subconscious hear him right now? He didn't know but the one thing he knew for sure was that she would be fighting. Aidan reached for her hand and gingerly took it in his as if she were made of porcelain.
"Hey, it's me." His voice resonated against the gaping silence of the room. "I don't know if you can hear me, but I'm just going to try anyway."
"You..." he broke off, hanging his head low, suddenly at a loss for what to say. "Gwyneth, you simply are the most incredible person I've ever met. Words can't even begin to describe how proud I am of you right now. How I feel about you." He brushed a tendril of hair off her face with a gentle sweep of his fingers.
"God, you're so beautiful, you know? Everything about you endears me to you. Everything Gwyneth, every little detail." He looked at her bruised face and his heart felt like it was in his throat.
"Did you know that every time you're hungry, you start biting your lower lip? And I can tell when you really like something." He gave a shaky laugh, his nerves unsteady. "Your eyebrow starts twitching and you fold your arms to feign nonchalance but there's that twinkle and that twitch and it gives you away."
He stopped for a while, temporarily crippled by the wave of affection the words drew out. "And...and you're a bag girl. You're such a bag girl. When we're walking past women you never check out their shoes. Your eyes go straight for the bags."
The bittersweet memories came rushing back, all the little fragments of her that he held so dear bursting forth like flower buds in bloom. "When you're angry and you're trying to rein it in, your eyes widen and you don't say a word. Every time you're upset, every time someone makes a mistake you just bite your tongue and graciously ignore the gaffe. You could always fire back, take up the anger and retaliate but you never do. Because that's what true strength is. Because you, Gwyneth, you embody the very meaning of courage."
"You're such a rarity, a gem. I wish that I could just tell you how much I love you. How you make me smile without even trying. There are so many things I wish I could tell you, but...but everything I want to say seems so inadequate.
"Right now, Gwyneth words are futile. I should have told you earlier. Should have said it to you that night - I don't know why I held back, but...Jesus, Gwyneth, please, just come back to me. Please, please promise me you'll be okay. If you can hear me, if you're there, please, just - please. Please."
