John contemplates the beautiful hand nestled in the palm of his own oversized mitt. Mindlessly, his thumb brushes across the pale skin, hoping to tease some life back into the limp fingers. He exhales deeply and closes his eyes to send up yet another prayer. He seems to be making up for lost time with his prayers this afternoon. Dozens of them have rushed through his mind, each hoping to strike the magical cord that will bring her back to him. Make her open her eyes. Look at him. Talk to him. Even yell at him.
His face a reflection of the pain he knows he had caused, he brings her knuckles to his lips, laying soft kisses on each of them. "Please tell me she'll be okay, Lexie" he pleads in a hollowed voice.
Lexie looks up from the clipboard she holds, her expression blank. "We just have to wait until she wakes up to know anything else, John." The petite doctor's hand comes to rest on the grieving husband's shoulder. There really are no other words to say. So with a slight squeeze, she speaks a quiet excuse and leaves the pair alone.
John feels the hot prickles in his eyes escape down his cheek and onto the back of her hand. He cradles the soft skin to his jaw like a lifeline. Unable to hold in his grief any longer, a ragged cry explodes from his lungs. "Doc, I'm *so* sorry, baby. I.... I didn't.... Everything was just so.... God, I didn't want to hurt you, Marlena. I *never* wanted to hurt you. I thought... I thought it would just go away..."
His voice wavers and he forces himself to inhale into tight lungs. He can barely manage a whisper, but the words tumble out. "I didn't want to believe it was my baby. I didn't.... I didn't want to believe I.... I had.... on our *honeymoon*. It wasn't me, Doc. I promise you. There's nothing there.... there.... there never was. It was *Stefano*, dammit," he verily hisses. "He... I didn't... *we* didn't know what we were doing. And now...."
His bleary eyes sweep over her peaceful form, her curves wrapped in sterile and stiff hospital sheets. She is hurt, laying here unconscious, and it is all his fault. Again. It is *always* his fault. Somehow, he is always the one who ultimately hurts her the most. Bringing up his other hand, he gently spreads her fingers and places a kiss in the center of her palm. "Don't leave me, Doc. I love you... too much, maybe. Just don't leave me."
Then, he sees the light flutter. Long eyelashes flicker to reveal glimpses of blessed hazel and his heart leaps. "Doc? Doc, baby? That's it, baby. Open your eyes." Tears of sadness he's been shedding are replaced with those of elation as slowly, her eyes adjust to the light. "There you go, baby. Look at me, sweetheart. Come on."
She does. And a flash of something cold shoots down his spine. There is something... different in those hazel depths he's so often lost himself in. Something foreign. And he can't help but ask, "Marlena?"
Two blinks. The coolness remains, boring into... no, *through* his own eyes. He concentrates on his breathing. She's angry with you. She has every *right* to be angry with you, man. That's all this is. "Oh, baby, you don't know how sorry I am." Tears blur his vision, and he exhales in relief. "But you're all right. Baby, you're all right, thank God."
Large, tender fingers brush wayward bangs from her bandaged forehead. And the words come on their own. "I never meant to hurt you. I never... I didn't know what was happening." He is babbling and he knows it, but he has to get through to her. "It wasn't *me* in that submarine. It was someone else. And *she* wasn't Hope. She was Gina. It was all a mind-game. One of *his* mind-games, Doc. I wasn't myself. I was... I was *Stefano's* pawn, Doc. I couldn't...."
Marlena's chin lifts slightly at the name, her eyes flicking to the door and the man standing somberly just in view of the narrow window. "I don't want to talk to you," she says simply. Slipping her hand icily from his grasp, she points toward the door. "I want to talk to *him*. I want to talk to Stefano."
He catches his jaw before it droops too noticeably. Stefano? Why does she want to talk to *Stefano*? The man... no, the *bastard* who brought them to this place. No matter how angry Marlena is with John, surely she doesn't really want to talk to Stefano.
But she has said it with such certainty. I want to talk to Stefano. Something is not right here. There is something odd transpiring, something much stranger than Marlena's anger. He can't quite finger it, but now is not the time to wonder. They have to talk.
"Wha-? Marlena, we need to talk. We have to work this out. C'mon, just..." He tries to capture her hand again, but she deftly avoids him, snatching her fist away as she struggles to pull herself into a sitting position.
"No. I want to talk to Stefano. Alone." She looks at him, her eyes searing, her voice distant and unusual, an eyebrow slightly raised. "*Now.*"
"But...."
Her glare is unforgiving. And the tone of her voice sends an odd shiver through him.
"*NOW.*"
The vehemence of her command bolts through him. Has he really gone too far this time? Is this *it*? Maybe she just wants to talk to Stefano first. Get *his* side of the story before she.... He does a double take on himself. What the *hell* am I thinking? Why would she want to talk to Stefano first? *I'm* her husband, dammit! Then he sags. Her husband who just betrayed her trust. Even so....
"C'mon, Doc. Why don't you rest for a little while first. Your head... you need to rest. Then we can talk later."
Once again, he is pinned with eerie hazel eyes. "I *said*, I want to talk to Stefano. Not you. *Stefano.*"
He swallows. The last thing he wants to do is make bad matters worse, and there appears to be no way to talk her out of this. He has simply made her too angry, pushed her too far. And she wants to talk to Stefano. Stefano... not me.
Unsure of what else to do, he lets her win this battle, and backs toward the door. He is afraid to break the eye contact, as though it is the last link they still have, as foreign as it is at the moment.
She sees him mutter something to the large man on the other side of the door and watches closely as the two have a few obvious words. Then she catches Stefano's glance and straightens her back, pushing on stiff arms to stretch a little. Stefano DiMera is not a man to be faced with a slack posture.
He enters the room, his confident gaze belied by his slightly cocked head. "You wanted to see me, Marlena?" he ventures cautiously. Her request to see him is more than unexpected. It is almost unfathomable.
"Close the door," she speaks tacitly. "Sit."
He catches a distantly familiar glimpse in her eye and dares to analyze it. No. It cannot be. But he holds his demeanor as he lowers himself onto the small stool beside her bed.
"What may I do for you, Marlena?"
Her lips tighten and she tilts her head to make sure no one is at the door. Assured, she turns an expressionless face to his. "Stefano."
Bushy brows lift as he waits for her to say more. She simply looks at him, as though determining something. What that something is, he is not quite sure, and he lets out an almost-nervous burst of laughter. "Yes, Marlena? What is it?"
Golden eyes narrow.
She lowers her voice before she speaks, the tones coming out with breathy accusation. "What the *hell* is going on here? Where am I?"
"You are in the hospital." Stefano returns, with great attention. "You had an accident, Marlena. I would have thought *John* would have explained this to you."
She pauses for a moment, digesting his words.
"No." She shakes her head and Stefano is quite taken aback by the precision of the movement. It is so reminiscent of.... He feels his heart skip a beat and then berates himself silently. It is too long. You have lost her, let it go.
Marlena says nothing more, simply stares at him with cool eyes before turning to survey the room. It is featureless, there is nothing to spark interest, nothing to tell her anything beyond what she already knows. Which is nothing.
"Marlena..." He begins, but is pulled up short as she flicks her head in his direction.
The expression on her face sends shivers through him and her eyes narrow menacingly. "*Why* are you calling me that?" she demands forcefully. "You *know* how I feel about that name."
Stefano pales slightly and clutches the blankets on the bed with four pudgy fingers. No. No, it cannot be. His mind is racing almost as rapidly as his pulse, as his eyes appraise her. The tilt of her chin, the poise with which she holds herself... the frosty gold of her eyes. His jaw falls as he realizes the enormity of what is occurring in this room, and what it means to him.
"Grace?" The 'r' rolls lightly off his tongue as he faces her, his astonishment evident. "Grace, is that you?"