Complicated

Chapter Fifty Nine: Faith

And I don't mind
If it's me you need to turn to
We'll get by
It's the heart that really matters in the end

Rob Thomas – Little Wonders

The chapel of the hospital was a small, narrow room centred in the very hub of the hospital somewhere between the Emergency Room and the Operating Theatres. It was a solemn but cheerful kind of place. There were a few wooden pews on either side of a thin aisle. An arty, beech coloured cross was stuck to the wall between two small statuettes of Jesus and Mary at the head of the chapel.

Grace rarely prayed but now seemed like a good time to build that bridge with God again, especially with Don's life still clasped so tightly in his hands. Grace laced her fingers together before tilting her head up towards the cross that stood before her. She was sitting alone in the first pew as footsteps echoed through the vacant area.

Dear God, I know I'm lame at this...

"I thought I'd find you here." The sound of a familiar voice echoed through her ears breaking off the beginnings of her prayer.

Grace bowed her head as Mac dropped into the pew beside her. His well built frame was a reassuring presence beside her as they both sat there in silence, hands resting in their laps. She had no words to express how grateful she was for him being here, for rescuing Don and bringing him back to her. His hand stretched across the distance between them, his steady fingers curling around hers as his inviting palm warmed her cold hand.

"Now just seemed like the right time to get in touch with God again." Grace admitted, squeezing his hand as she spoke with a with a twinge of bitterness. "Don's in surgery, they've had to do a blood transfusion because apparently most of it's on the floor of the abattoir Maplin kept him in."

It was painful to experience such a harrowing rush of emotions. They tumbled over her all at once stealing her breath and prickling at her soul like a thousand tiny needles. The grief was crushing and Grace thought it shouldn't be, it shouldn't feel this way. She was relieved that he was alive but at the same time she had seen the damaged, broken man hiding behind his eyes when he'd gripped her hand in the ambulance.

His tormented blue eyes had been locked on hers the entire way through the ride. Grace didn't know what he had been seeing but he seemed comforted by her presence. He'd barely made a noise when they stripped the wind breaker from his battered body. The blood was everywhere, smeared across his chest, running from fleshy rivets of exposed muscle. It was a patchwork, she had never seen anything like it outside of a photograph.

It was the burn that scarred his heart that made her throat ache and her chest constrict. The skin was raw and blackened in the area surrounding it, it was already starting to blister. Second degree, she guessed. Don was in whole lotta pain.

His eyes were flickering closed as she shifted her gaze so they were starring into each other's souls all over again.

"It's bad." Don hissed as the paramedic began to clean away the blood.

"Your ok." she whispered as he squeezed her hand weakly. "I promise your gonna be ok."

"Your here." he stated as a matter of fact, his voice breaking. "You always take care of me."

"Always." she murmured, her fingertips brushing away the dark hair that was plastered to his forehead. "That's what a wife is for."

"I'm glad he's dead."Grace said quietly, bowing her head so her hair fell across her pale features as she focused on Mac's hand. "I know that should make me a terrible person but what he did to Don... It's unforgivable."

"I won't pretend to have the answers." Mac told her, his tone was low and kind as he tried to explain. "Maplin was Don's white whale like in the book Moby Dick, Maplin used it against him. Don was the challenge he never got from Laura Mathews."

"Why did this happen?" Grace questioned, raking both of her hands through her dark hair. "We were happy."

"You'll be happy again." Mac reassured her confidently. "You, Don and the baby boy or girl you have inside you."

Mac's faith in them was commendable, it filled her up with a knowledge and a strength she didn't know she possessed. She'd spent the last few hours pitying Don and feeling sorry for herself over everything that had happened. She couldn't let it be like that any more. This was never about her in the first place, this was about Don and the love and care that he needed from her right now despite the fact she was pregnant. Extracting a balance like this was precarious, there were three of them now and there were two people she was responsible for. Although that weighed heavily upon her shoulders, she knew she wasn't alone in this matter.

Even now as she sat in this tiny chapel alongside Mac, Grace knew she wasn't the only one supporting her husband. The majority of the team were sitting in the waiting room just beyond those doors eagerly awaiting news of their friend from the O.R. Donald was seated with them, the last time she'd seen them Danny and him had had their heads together discussing something.

Her own parents were helping in their own way. Her father has taken it upon himself to change the locks on their apartment door in case Maplin had passed along the key to any other undesirables. Even thought the scenario was unlikely she appreciated the peace of mind it would give her to know that that wasn't a possibility.

Adam had unfortunately ratted her out to her mother that she hadn't been taking care of herself and the woman was now out buying all manner of God knows what. Her mother was a force of nature and nothing would get between her and making sure her family were well catered for.

"Just be there, let him know you love him and what happened doesn't change that." Mac advised softly. "It's important that you show that to him. It's not going to be easy but your not on your own. You've got your family and your friends."

"Thank you." Grace whispered.

Don was sleeping, Grace had always adored the peaceful expression upon his face as he slept. Today nothing had changed despite the bruising that marred his handsome features. He was still the man she loved and there wasn't anyway she'd let that change, especially not now. His fingers were wrapped around her hand clutching onto it tightly. He'd woken up briefly, moaning and seeking her out with weak fingertips. Grace had clasped his hand in hers and Don had settled once again.

Seeing Don like this took her back over four years now, to a similar time when there had been very little hope and the two of them had been living on prayers. A hope and a dream, Don has proclaimed once.

Their baby was content now, peaceful even. It had quietened down from it's irritable anxious state. She didn't know how she knew that but she was certain she was right. Maybe her own mother had been right about the natural instincts she thought. Becoming a mom was so different to what she had imagined but in the few short days she had known she was a parent she felt she'd become tuned to her baby's feelings. The two of them had some sort of understanding at least.

Don's body was laid out in front of her the same way it had been the first time she'd seen him in the hospital. His skin was flushed from the blood transfusion, his chest was bandaged over the gauze that covered up every single one of his wounds. There would be scars, the doctor had told her. Scars was something that Grace could deal with. No internal organs had been nicked during Maplin's brutality, she assumed that that was intentional. Maplin drawing out the torture, making it last.

It was the pain medications and the sedatives that were making him sleep and Grace was thankful for that. The burns were second degree, seared into his chest with a curling iron. Second degree burns hurt like the fires of hell. It was his thigh that had been the cause for concern, the knife had sliced through the muscle in his leg and severed a tendon.

Although the surgeon had repaired the tendon, it would be weeks until they would discover the true extent of the damage caused by the injury. Don's mobility could be altered for the remainder of his life and that threw up all sorts of implications regarding his job.

One step at a time... his father's words were echoing through her ears.

Grace brought Don's hand to her lips caressing the space just below his bloody, bandaged wrists gently.

One step at a time.