Above All, Honor

Someone far away screamed her name, an agonized, animal scream of pain. Then - nothing.

"We need another line here ... Hang more fluid Son of a bitch! I can't get a blood pressure ... Where the fuck is the O neg... Push the intracardiac epi again... Here we go-- crack her chest ... Anything? ... I've got a rhythm... Shit, still no pulse ... Keep up the compression ... Nothing ... Pump more blood ... Come on, come on Normal sinus rhythm... Oh, man - tell them to move it "

Cam had no memory for the trip, or the frantic 40 minutes in the emergency room before she was transported to the operating room. For the first few days, she was kept sedated in the intensive care unit, a tube in her trachea delivering oxygen, larger tubes in her chest removing blood and tissue fluids. A machine breathed for her; she could neither move nor talk. Occasionally some stimulus would penetrate her consciousness, and she would register some small sensation - sound, a light, someone touching her. Always, there would be a soft voice, murmuring words of consolation that had no meaning, but were strangely soothing. Pain was a distant thunder, rolling slowly through the landscape of her awareness, ever present.

"Hurts..."

"I know, darling, I know ... Can't you give her something, for god's sake!"

"Cameron, you're going to be all right. Hold on please. I need you to live."

The voice was so familiar, yet the face so elusive. Once, Cam opened her eyes and was certain that the tear-stained face bending near her own was Blair's. But that couldn't be right, could it? The next time she opened her eyes, she was lucid enough to realize it was only a nurse.

Cam listened to snippets of conversation, desperately trying to make sense of what was happening to her. Unfortunately, there were huge gaps in her consciousness, destroying any sense of reality.

A man's voice, "Let me drive you home. You need to get some rest."

"No. Not yet. They said another 24 hours before they were sure..."

"Please, it won't help..." The man again, insistent, but gentle.

"It helpsme ."

Cam was aware of people touching her. Turning her, covering her, bathing her. The single touch that anchored her the most, however, was a gentle hand that seemed to enclose hers for hours on end. Whenever she could summon the will, Cam squeezed the fingers clasping hers, and the voice would come again, murmuring tender words of love and encouragement in her ear.

"Who.. are..."

"It's all right, love, don't try to talk now."

"Stay .."

"I will."

******

Cameron lay quietly, eyes closed, taking stock of her situation. Most of the tubes she had been dimly aware of the last few days were gone. The noise level around her had also decreased, and she sensed that she wasn't in the intensive care unit anymore. A hand slowly stroked her hair. She opened her eyes and focused on the woman beside her. She was surprised at how bright the sunlight filtering through the window appeared.

"Hello darling."

Cameron reached for the fingers softly brushing her cheek. She was amazed, and not a little frightened, at how difficult a task that was. She hoped she didn't looked as weak as she felt. "Hello, mother."

Her memories converged all at once, and panic ripped through her.

"Blair Powell! Is she all right? Was she hurt?"

She actually tried to sit up, and found that she was unable to raise her shoulders more than a fraction of an inch. The pain she had been living with for days suddenly coalesced into a bright hot lance of fire searing through her chest. "Oh oh--," she gasped involuntarily, collapsing against the pillows.

"Lie still, Cameron," her mother admonished firmly. "Ms. Powell is fine. She wasn't injured. In fact, you were the only one--" she hesitated for a moment, steadying her voice. "You were the only one who was shot."

Cam closed her eyes briefly, sapped by the effort to sit up. Despite her fatigue, she felt peaceful and content. Sleep was coming quickly, but she needed to know, "Who is in charge? Who is looking after her?"

"I believe it's a gentleman named Macintosh, or something like that."

Cam nodded faintly, reassured. Mac would not let anything happened to Blair. Secure in that thought, she slept and healed.

**********

Marcea Cassells looked down at her sleeping child. She thought of the other young woman who had spent so many hours beside this bed, holding her daughter's hand, stroking her hair, whispering to her in low loving tones. She knew whatever battles her daughter had been waging, those long dark hours had been made lighter by this woman's presence.

Marcea wondered if either of them understood the depth of their connection, which perhaps could only be appreciated by someone standing outside the circle of their intimacy. She knew her daughter's sense of duty well enough to know that Cameron would not have allowed anything to transpire between them. It was just as clear to her that despite their best intentions, something very significant had.

Marcea walked down the hall to the pay phone, and held the slip of paper in her hand as she punched in the numbers that had been written there for her.

"This is Marcea Cassells," she began when a male voice answered. She was told to wait a moment, and then a woman spoke anxiously into the phone.

"Yes? Is she--"

"She's awake. Weak, but otherwise she seems to be quite all right."

A moment of silence, then a voice that shook slightly. "Thank you so much for calling me."

Marcea hesitated a second, then continued, "She asked about you immediately."

Blair took a sharp breath.God how I wanted to be there when Cameron awoke When it was clear that the Secret Service agent was out of danger, the White House and Secret Service had put unbearable pressure upon her to be sequestered in a safe house until the investigation could be carried out. She hadn't wanted to leave Cam's side, but she could not fight everyone alone. Even Mac had gently told her that Cameron would have wished for her to go. It was when he reminded her that Cameron had nearly died trying to keep her safe, that Blair finally relented. Nevertheless, leaving Cameron had been the hardest thing she had ever done. She felt like she was leaving her heart behind.

"Could you tell her--tell her--I--," Blair halted in confusion. Cameron would never believe her.

"I think you'll have to tell her that yourself, when the time is right," Marcea said gently.

"Yes, of course," Blair said swiftly, her emotions now firmly under control. She thanked Cameron's mother, and hung up the phone. She turned away, knowing that there would never be a time when she could share with Cameron what was in her heart.