Chapter Text
“Do you want sauce on your noodles, or just butter?”
Agatha stands at the stover, stirring a pot of spaghetti sauce.
Nicky shifts in his seat as he colors in a book. “Uhhh–butter, please.”
“Okay,” Agatha says, “but you’re having meatballs too. You need protein and–”
There’s a knock on the front door. It’s loud. It’s heavy. It’s urgent.
Agatha glances at the stove clock.
5:36
She sets the wooden spoon down in its holder, eyebrows scrunched together. Yes, you’re a little late–school gets out at three and you’re usually home by five–but you texted her two hours ago saying that you were stopping at the store on your way home.
When she opens the front door, Agatha stands in front of two police officers.
“Can I help you?” she asks.
“Are you Agatha Harkness?” one of the officers asks, looping her thumbs through her vest.
She nods lightly. “I am.”
“We’re here to speak with you about your wife,” one of the officers says. “May we come in?”
Agatha’s mouth goes dry and she feels her stomach sink. Tunnel vision makes her dizzy and her ears are filled with static.
36 minutes.
That’s how long ago you should’ve been home.
“Ma’am?”
She blinks rapidly. “I’m sorry.”
“I asked if we could come in,” the officer says.
She breathes deeply and opens the door wider. “Uhh–yeah.”
They stand in the foyer, Agatha’s hands shaking as she clutches her chest. The words barely register.
“What?” she breathes.
“Your wife was in an accident,” the officer repeats. “A drunk driver hit her in an intersection. She’s been taken to Westview Medical. She’s stable, but in critical condition.”
“Oh.” Agatha’s throat tightens and she swallows back her tears. “Okay. Thank you for informing me.”
When the door shuts behind the officers Agatha lets out a sob. Her hands press at her hairline as she takes in a deep breath and lets it out. She takes out her phone and hits Rio’s contact, calling her immediately.
“What’s up?” Rio picks up almost immediately.
“Um–I need you to take Nicky tonight.” Agatha says, her voice strained.
There’s a pause. “Why?”
“I have to–” She chokes on her words and a sob escapes. “I have to go to the hospital.” She explains everything she was told by the officers just a few minutes ago. “They said she’s stable, but in critical condition.”
“Yeah,” Rio says quickly. “Yeah, I can take him tonight. Just swing by on your way to the hospital, I’m home.”
Back in the kitchen, Nicky still sits at the table, oblivious to the events unfolding. Agatha, breath still shaking, turns the stove off and sits down in the chair next to him. “Honey, I need to tell you something.”
He looks up from his coloring book. “Mama, why are you crying?”
Agatha sniffles, her hand going to his back. “Um–something’s happened to Mom. She’s in the hospital and–” She takes in a deep breath to steady her words. “She isn’t okay, sweetheart. So, you’re gonna stay with Mommy tonight so I can be with her, okay?”
In less than an hour they’re pulling into Rio’s driveway. She stands on her porch, barefoot, hair tied up messily, and wearing sweatpants and a hoodie of her alma mater. Rio pulls Nicky into a tight hug and when he runs inside she turns toward Agatha, arms crossed.
“He hasn’t eaten dinner,” Agatha sighs. “We were just about to when…Just–he’s probably hungry, so…you know…”
Rio nods lightly. “I know. Don’t worry about him, he’ll be fine here. I can take him for the whole weekend. He’s my son–I don’t mind.”
“Are you sure?”Agatha asks, and when she gets a nod she lets out a sigh of relief and hugs her tightly. “Thank you, so much. I know it’s not your weekend, but thank you.”
“Of course,” Rio hums. “Now, go. Keep me updated.”
The chair Agatha sits in is uncomfortable. The ticking of the clock makes her uncomfortable. The name of the room she’s in makes her uncomfortable.
402
ICU Grief Room
The Grief Room.
Her leg bounces up and down as she looks around. The fluorescent lighting. The gray walls. The various posters and pamphlets about grief and trauma. It all makes her uncomfortable.
The door clicks open and she wipes her tears. A woman walks in wearing blue surgical scrubs and a grim expression.
“Mrs. Harkness?” she asks, and Agatha nods. “I’m Dr. Elliot. I’m one of the surgeons on your wife’s case tonight.”
“How is she?” Agatha asks as the doctor takes a seat in front of her.
“Well, she’s in surgery right now,” the doctor says. “There was extensive injury–severe internal bleeding, brain damage. We did have to perform CPR once, but since then her vitals have been stable. I can’t give you an exact time when she’ll be out of surgery, but my estimate would be in a few hours.”
Agatha spends the next two hours in the hospital cafeteria. She stares off into space, interrupted every few seconds by a sip of coffee. The analog clock above the hospital logo reads 21:30. She sniffles and startles when her phone starts ringing.
She picks up and her voice is thick and hoarse. “Rio?”
“Any updates?” Rio asks on the other side.
Agatha doesn’t know what to say. “Uhhh–just that there was a lot–” She breathes deeply, but at this point, there’s no use in holding back tears. “There was a lot of damage and that they don’t–! What fucking idiot gets behind a wheel after ten tequila shots?” she sobs. Agatha's breathing speeds up as she talks and soon it's hard to understand her and her rambling.
“Okay, Agatha,” Rio says calmly. “I need you to take some deep breaths.”
Agatha breathes in deeply. “Okay…How’s Nicky?”
“He’s asleep,” Rio sighs. “Gave him some ice cream after dinner, turned on Scooby-Doo, and he knocked right out.”
“Okay,” Agatha breathes, chuckling as she wipes away her tears. “Yeah…okay…Thank you, Rio.”
Hour three emerges when Agatha is back in the waiting room. She’s never been one to pray, but right now, all she can do is beg whatever higher power to save you.
“Mrs. Harkness…”
Her heart races and she practically jumps to her feet when she sees the surgeon.
“Your wife is out of surgery and post-op and is currently being wheeled up to the ICU. If you’d like to, you can follow us back upstairs and we can go over everything.”
She’s back in the uncomfortable, gray, depressing room. This time, the resident and her attending sit across from her.
The attending–which Agatha has already forgotten his name–scrolls through his laptop, going over the notes in your chart. “She has a bruised kidney, which should heal on its own. She suffered a large amount of internal bleeding from her spleen, however we were able to do a partial splenectomy and save some of it. Her left arm, hand, and fingers have sustained multiple fractures. And regarding her brain…her temporal lobe was damaged, which–”
“Wait, the–the temporal lobe,” Agatha says mindlessly. “That’s memory, right?”
“Yes,” the doctor says. “Her temporal lobe was damaged. I want to be very transparent with you, Mrs. Harkness. There’s a very good possibility that if she wakes up, she will have retrograde amnesia.”
Agatha opens her mouth like a fish out of water. “Like–like, she won’t remember me? She won’t remember–anything? If she wakes up?”
The doctor nods his head solemnly. “Yes. I try to be as transparent as possible with my patients and their families. I cannot give you a timeline as to when–or if–she’ll wake up. It could be days, weeks, or months–”
“Can I see her?” Agatha asks. “Please?”
“Of course,” the doctor says. “It shouldn’t be too much longer before you can go in. Before you do go in, however, I do want to let you know that she is intubated and that she does have a naso-gastric tube. It can be a very…harrowing sight for some people.”
“Okay,” Agatha mumbles. “Thank you.”
There are 23 ICU beds at Westview Medical. 22 of those rooms are dark. One of them has every light available on–your room.
The curtain is drawn and Agatha is asked to wait outside for a moment. And when the attending reemerges and gives her the go-ahead, she clutches onto her coat tightly and takes the first step.
Agatha wants to collapse the second she sees you. Because that isn’t you.
Where’s the hair she brushed out of your face this morning? Where are those freckles on the side of your face that she loves to place kisses on? They’re gone. Concealed by a dark, ugly bruise. Three stitches line the bottom of your lip. Another row lines a nasty gash on your cheekbone and another on your forehead.
And among tiny cuts and scrapes where shards of glass had hit, is a bruised left eye.
Agatha’s hand covers her mouth, shaking as she takes tentative steps toward your body. Tubes and wires hang from your limp body and her hand reaches out to brush over your cheek.
Her lip trembles and tears cloud her eyes. “Oh, love…”
A nurse knocks on the door frame and enters. “Hi, I’m Callie, I’ll be the night-shift nurse for your wife tonight.”
As the nurse walks around the room–writing down case information on the whiteboard, preparing medication–Agatha stays by your side. She secures a pillow beneath your left arm and then pauses.
“Where’s her wedding ring?” Agatha asks softly.
The nurse turns around. “Because of the swelling in her fingers, they did have to cut off her wedding band.”
Agatha nods absentmindedly and rounds the bed. She holds your right hand, thumb brushing over your wrist where your hospital bracelet is worn loosely.
After administering an IV medication, the nurse removes her gloves and rubs hand sanitizer into her hands. “The belongings they brought with her are in that cupboard over there by the couch.”
Agatha sniffles and wipes her eyes. “Okay…”
“I’ll dim the lights,” Callie says, “but we’ll be in and out frequently. There are sheets and blankets and a pillow on the couch if you’d like to get some rest.”
“Thank you,” Agatha murmurs.
When the nurse leaves, Agatha doesn’t make up the couch. Instead, she pulls the recliner over to your hospital bed and uses the sheets and blankets there.
And she refuses to leave your side.
Agatha’s hand takes your right–the one free from a cast, but being careful to not disturb the IV. She curls into a ball and watches over you, eyes tracking the steady and even motion of your mechanical breathing.