Title: Yesterday to Tomorrow: Chapter Seventeen, A Test
Rating: R [violence, swearing]

Summary: Chris and Alyssa discover how badly she's injured.

Previous Chapter Block the Bullet

Current Chapter A Test

Next Chapter Not a Girl's Best Friend

Her eyes looked into his, seeing the pain swirling in the green. She bit her lip and looked away. Her eyes travelled over the hospital room, trying to absorb his words. Shot, she had been shot. She didn't really remember that...

Her eyes returned to his, "Where?"

Chris sighed, his hands rubbing his face, hiding his eyes from Alyssa, "Baby, that's not really important."

"Bullshit," she replied, instantly. "Where was I shot, Chris?"

His hands dropped from his face, "He didn't actually shoot you, rather shot into the vault. From our best guesses, the bullet richocheted off the steel walls of the vault and struck you...."

"Where?" she repeated, worry starting to rise in her throat. "Where, Chris?"

"The bullet fragments missed your spinal column by little more than an inch. But the swelling is still so great that they haven't been able to determine if... if there was any lasting damage. Baby, if you can't... if you can't walk... it's all my fault," he stated in a quick breath.

"What? Why would it be your fault?" Alyssa instantly asked, pushing aside the whole not walking part.

"Because... because when they opened that safe, I hurried in there and picked you up. Which probably caused more damage from the bullet. I should have let the medics...."

Her hand grasped his, "Chris, don't you dare start to guilt yourself. I need you to be strong."

His eyes met hers again. He shifted in the chair so he could lean over and kiss her softly. Her lips trembled as he kissed her and oh how she wanted him to hold her. She didn't really remember much more than entering the bank and then waking up where she was, but there was a fear, a terror deep in her soul. And it had nothing to do with whether or not she would be able to walk again.

The lights buzzed on over them, causing Alyssa to wince and squeeze her eyes close as Chris returned to sitting in the chair, his hand still grasping hers. The doctor chuckled very softly, almost inaudibly, but with her headache, Alyssa could have heard a mouse fart.

"Miss Morgan, good to see you finally decided to come out of those dreams," the doctor proclaimed. "Do you have a little light sensitivity?"

"You could say that. And I would rather you do so in not such loud voice," she replied.

The scratches of his pen on her chart made her cringe.

"I presume your husband-to-be has filled you in on some things?" he stated.

"A little," she replied.

She heard the light go off, presumably so that she could look at the doctor while he spoke to her.

"The bullet fragments entered your back, thankfully not damaging any major organ, as far as we can tell. It's been rather difficult to assess you surgically as your spinal column is quite swollen, about three times the normal size. Which leads me to believe there's a piece of the broken bullet somewhere in there. However until we reduce the swelling there is so very little we can do safely," he explained. "The swelling hasn't reduced much in the past forty-eight hours, not even with the combinations of anti-inflammatories we've dosed you with."

"Forty-eight hours?" she asked, eyes turning to Chris.

The doctor nodded when she looked back to him, "We kept you in a medically induced coma to help your body relax and do some of the healing itself. Your liver, which sustained some minor damage, already shows full functions. It's your spine that's our concern right now. And the reason why you will be here for some time to come."

"But besides the headache, I feel okay," she replied.

Moving to the foot of her bed, the doctor flipped up the blanket, exposing her naked feet. He scraped his fingernail along the bottom of her foot. Alyssa watched him do it and yet felt nothing. Next he moved her foot in small circles. Nothing. She attempted to pull it away from his hands, but her legs wouldn't move at all.

"Oh my god," she muttered. "Chris, I can't... I can't..."

"I know, baby," Chris replied, squeezing her hand.

Flipping the blanket completely off of her, the doctor pulled out a little wheel instrument with dull points on it. Starting at her toes, he rolled it over her foot and up her leg.

"Tell me when you feel it," he instructed.

Over her knee and up her thigh the doctor tested, moving to the opposite side of the bed as Chris as he did so. Reaching her hip, where the hospital robe was tied, he paused, moving the instruement over the ties. Halfway to her navel, Alyssa thought she felt something, but it was fleeting and nothing to even note. Crossing the invisible line that circled her at her belly button, Alyssa flinched, feeling the gentle prick of the wheel.

"There," she declared. "Right there."

"Just as I feared," the doctor commented before making a note on her chart. "I'm going to change your dosage on your meds, Miss Morgan. We need to get that swelling down. Or there could be permanent damage."



Staring vacantly out the window, Alyssa wiped the tear on her cheek. Chris had left the hospital for a change of clothes and to fetch some things he thought would cheer her up. Alone she was left with more questions than answers. Like what had really happened and would she ever walk again? Would she not get to dance at her own wedding? Would Chris even want her if she was wheelchair-bound for life? How could she care for her father if she was in a wheelchair?

Certainly it bothered her that she couldn't move her legs at all. She wasn't even allowed to re-position them in bed with her hands, as the doctors didn't want her to upset the delicate balance of her back. She had been told the swelling had reduced some, but not nearly as much as they needed. They didn't even want to risk scanning her to see if there was in fact a bullet fragment or if her spine was just bruised and over-reacting.

The worst part of it all, well maybe not the worst, but up there, was the fact she didn't remember a thing about the bank. The police had come in and talked with her before Chris left. But all she could tell them was she entered the bank and woke up there. No names. No descriptions. No clue at all. She hated the gap in her memory almost as much as her inability to move.

Maybe it would have been better had she died.

"Alyssa?" a voice broke her trance, causing her teary eyes to go from window to door.

In the doorway stood Chris's bandmates. She smiled slightly, noting they each held something presumably for her: flowers, balloons, a stuffed animal. Seeing her looking at them, the guys stepped into the hospital room.

"I can't believe Chris would leave your side," Tom commented.

"I made him," she declared. "He needed a break to re-group."

He held out the stuffed elephant, "I bet he just runs home, changes, and comes back. Being away from you would drive him insane."

Alyssa smiled a little, accepting the purple elephant, "I don't even know what happened. Except I was shot, apparently. I remember going into the bank. And.... that's it."

Tom frowned, slipping into Chris's chair while Tim set the flowers on the table by the window and Brad tied the balloons to the back of the other chair, "I wish there was more I could tell you, Alyssa. But I'm afraid not. All we know is what's on tv and what Chris has told us. And neither of those would help you much, I think."

"Nothing? Nothing at all?"

"I heard something about Martha Stewart," Tim piped in. "But I don't know what she has to do with anything."

Alyssa shook her head. It didn't help. At all.

Her eyes dropped down to the elephant in her unfeeling lap, her fingers playing with the bow about its neck, "Chris is going to leave me."

"What!? Did he tell you that!?" Tom exclaimed.

She shook her head, not looking up, "Why wouldn't he? I'm half a person now."

"Fuck no, Alyssa. Listen to me," he reached, tilting her head up. "Chris loves you. It would take a hell of a lot more than fucking shrapnel to make him walk away from you. Period. If the record is put on hold... hell if we never finish it because he needs to take care of you, that's how it will be. You are more important than anything. Don't forget that."

"Chris loves you," Brad stated.

"Besides, we'll beat him if he so much as considers not being with you," Tim added.

"This is merely a test. That both of you will pass with flying colours."