The Prior
Chapter 31: Comatose of 1985

POV: Cassidy Abbot

The first time I open my eyes, all I see are doctors. One in a funny blue hat places a mask over my face, until I’m lulled asleep.

The second time I open my eyes, I see Elliot and Max. It’s dark now. They both lie asleep, Elliot leaning on Max’s shoulder. It’s really quite adorable. I can only focus on them for about 30 more seconds until the pain in my head registers. My eyes nearly bug out of my head, before my consciousness fades again.

The third time I awaken, I sense Elliot sitting on the edge of my bed. Max isn’t within my line of sight.

“Hi,” I mutter. He jumps off the edge of my bed and scrambles to see me.

“You’re awake.”

“Kinda. What happened? How long have I been out?” I ask. Blood rushes through my head. It’s like I can feel it moving around. He runs his thumb over my cheek, smiling from ear to ear. He plants a soft kiss on my nose, now squatting to face me. Oh, how good his warmth feels.

“You, uh, well, we don’t know what happened. You got hit in the head somehow. The doctors said you had a brain bleed, but they repaired it. You’ve been in a coma for 2 weeks,” he whispers.

Footsteps approach, a nurse I’m sure, “She’s awake?” Max.

Elliot stands up and whispers something I don’t hear to Max. I hear footsteps walk away, then return. A doctor and a man in a suit appear. The doctor says something in another language. Where am I?

“Hi, Cassidy,” The man in the suit says, “My name is Donald and I’m from the American Embassay. I’m going to translate for you. I’ve been ensuring that your medical care here is up to American standards.”

I smile a bit, “I used to be a diplomat.”

Elliot cuts in, “I think she’s a little loopy from the pain medicine.” I process that. Oh, yeah, it’s 1985 and I was not a diplomat then. Whoops.

“Okay, Cassidy, I don’t know how much your friends have told you, but during the hijacking, you suffered severe head trauma, which resulted in brain bleeding. We’re getting you all patched up here. You’ve been in a medically induced coma for the last two weeks. Today is July 27th, 1985. Now that you’re stable, we’re going to loosen the medicines you are on and see how you’re feeling. Ok?” he asks.

I sigh, “Thank you.”

There’s bustling in the background, as more nurses and doctors enter the room. Elliot holds my hand. Max holds two cups of coffee.

We sit there for hours, Elliot holding my hand, Max chatting away about all sorts of things. He mostly picks on Elliot for thinking that I was going to die. Elliot doesn’t even fight him. I trying to picture my foggy memory of them together: Elliot asleep on Max’s shoulder. Growth.

My heart feels warm. I don’t know if it’s because of the love radiating from Max and Elliot, or if it’s because the doctors are still pumping me on the pain meds. Once all the doctors and the embassy man leave, I finally get to have a conversation with Elliot and Max.

“So, we’ve been in one time jump for two weeks?” I ask.

Elliot nods, “We think there aren’t always triggers. That sometimes it’s just a time period. Like with the Beatles, we left way before they would’ve broken up. But, we’ve been here for 2 weeks. I think that the original hostage situation, without our interference, lasted for 3 weeks.”

“Oh,” I mutter.

Elliot comes back to crouching near my head, “God, I’m so happy you’re okay. Are you in any pain?”

I roll my eyes, “I’ll be fine, Elliot. I’m a little tired. Mind if I get back to sleep?” he nods and moves back to the couch across from my bed. Max joins him, passing him the coffee.

The fourth time that I wake up, I’m in the woods. Of course. I’m too scared to move. Did I heal?

“She’s up,” I hear Max call out. In seconds, Elliot’s face is hovering over mine. He wipes the hair out of my face, smiling at me.

I feel him plant a soft kiss on the side of my face, “How do you feel, beautiful?” If I could move, I would’ve cringed at that. What happened to him? Bleh.

“I don’t know, I need to sit up, I think,” I mutter. Max approaches on the other side of me and they both take their time to lift me up. With each milimeter off the ground, my head begins to feel pressure. Leaning me up against a nearby tree, I start to feel nauseous. I hollar that I’m about to throw up and Max helps me lean to the side.

“You’re ok. You’re ok,” he whispers as stomach acid flows out of my mouth. He holds my hair back. Elliot sheds his tie, then uses it to wipe my mouth. He and Max move me away from my pile of vomit. Elliot sits down on the ground and Max leans me against him.

Careful not to touch the back of my head, he gently massages me. His hands rub my shoulders, my neck, and my arms. His kisses me softly, all over. Max leans against a nearby tree and reads the paper.

As Elliot’s massage dies down, I finally call out to Max, “What’s next? I’m scared.”

Elliot wraps his arms around me, “Oh, Cassidy.”

I hear crunching of leaves, from behind us. Elliot and Max both turn around, to the man approaching us.

“Hey guys!” The guy says enthusiastically. I cringe and recognize the voice. Elliot and Max probably have no idea who that is.

“The guy from the plane?” Max says, unsure. The man jogs towards us, as I confirm Max’s suspicion.

“The new agent? They replaced Donna?” Elliot asks.

“Mhm,” I mutter, before squeezing his arm, “Stay here with me, I think he likes me enough to not kill you when I’m in the line of fire.” Elliot sighs, as this new agent giddily smiles at us.

He trips over nothing on, but stumbles towards us and plops down, criss cross in front of Elliot and I. He grins like some kind of over-excited puppy.

“You’re feeling better, Cass? That was a bad accident back there,” he asks. I feel Elliot move ever so slightly behind me. Perhaps he’s reaching for his gun. Max distracts him, telling him all about my 2 weeks in the hospital and my vomitting this morning.

I’m too weak to threaten him, or even appear threatening. Elliot and Max are not in a good position to take him down, either. Elliot couldn’t move me off him in time and Max is too far away to make a plan with us. I should’ve remembered this in the hospital. Dammit. I pace through all the possible options of what to do. I got it. I just need Max and Elliot to go along with it.

I clear my throat, “Uhm, I’m really feeling just awful. Elliot, when you got shot, how did we do that mission?” Max cuts his eyes at me. I need him to trust me.

Elliot goes along with it, reading my mind, “Well, I couldn’t do anything. So you and Max went and did the mission while Belle stayed to take care of me.”

“Ah, right. Maybe we could do that?” I ask. The agent, Peter, seems unsure. I see this as my opportunity to elaborate, since Max isn’t filling in the gaps here. I clear my throat, “Maybe Elliot, would you, stay here and take care of me? You really do such a good job.”

Elliot mutters “Oh,” only loud eniugh for me to hear, then says “Yeah. That would be great. Since there’s another solider, you should be fine just the two of you. Max and…uh, what was your name again?”

“Peter,” The soldier answers. Max begins to stand up, approaching Peter. He gives me a dirty look, unhappy to be sacrificed.

But, he goes along with it, “Yeah, man, let’s do it!”

Still unsure, Max coaxes Peter and they walk away together. 15 paces away, Max turns to look behind at us. His right arm goes up, giving us the middle finger. “Fuck you,” he mouths, which makes me giggle.

After they’ve completely left our line of sight, Elliot lets out a sigh.

“So, you live another day,” I mutter. He squeezes me, planting another kiss on my cheek. I enjoy his love for a moment, until my seething anger returns. “I’m still mad at you, you know.”

His muscles tense up, “For?...Oh.”

The image of Donna pulling him into a kiss floods into my brain. My blood boils and I feel nauseous again, in a completely different way.

“For the record,” he says, “She kissed me and I pulled away.”

“Sure,” I mumble, “So you want to tell me what happened after that? Because you and Donna had all night alone together.”

He huffs, “I’ll be honest.” I roll my eyes, but I don’t think he can see me. I’m still leaned into him, unable to move without immense pain.

He tells me about their night together in the hotel. I replace myself clenching my teeth so hard that my jaw hurts. That they ended things amicably, hugged. My own memories of that same night flood back to me.

“I, uh, need to be honest too,” I mutter, my eyes wet with tears. He keeps a steady grip on my arm. “Max kissed me,” I whisper.

I feel the entirety of Elliot’s body tense up. I explain that the Beatles got us high. That Max couldn’t walk. That I barely remember it. Somehow that makes it worse, I think.

“And you were mad at me?” he scoffs, “For the same thing you did the same day?”

I sigh, “I don’t know Elliot.” The water in my eyes has formed into tears. They sting my face, hot. My chest fills with pressure. I realize that my fists are clenched and my nails are digging into my skin. I don’t know if it’s the emotions or the pain in my head causing me to cry so much right now. I open my mouth, now filled with snot, “You made me fall in love with you, you asshole! And then you did that? With your ex?”

His grip on my arm softens. I feel him hold his breath, I painstakingly turn my head to look at him. His eyebrows are raised. I scan his face, trying to figure out what I just said. You made me fall in love with you. But, he did. He did make me fall in love with him.

“Did you just-” he starts, before I cut him off.

“-I almost told you that at the Beatles concert, but then Donna kissed you,” I mutter.

He chuckles, “Fucking Donna.” I feel my mouth creep into a smile. He smiles too, “I really am sorry, Cassidy. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Well, it’s going to be a lot harder than that to get rid of me now,” I say.

He pulls me back towards him, wrapping both of his arms around me. He squeezes me so tightly that I can feel it in my brain. Or maybe that’s just the head injury. I groan in pain, he apologizes before kissing my neck.

“I love you so fucking much, Cassidy,” he rasps against my skin.

A smile appears on my face. I can’t help it.

“I love you too, Elliot,” I says, just as he squeezes me again––more gently, this time.

“Dude, what’s with the cuddles?” I finally ask. It’s starting to weird me out a little. He maintains his touchyness, but explains that when he thought I was dead, all he wanted was one more hug and kiss. Which makes me laugh, because I don’t think we’ve really had very many of those, to begin with.