CLOVE

forty-five

Brennan walked down the sterile white hallway towards Clover's hospital room, his heart heavy with guilt and worry. In one hand, he held Clover's favorite graphic band tee shirt, the one she always wore to bed. In his pocket, he carried the note she had written for him months ago, the one he had never read.

As he approached the door to her room, he took a deep breath, steeling himself for what he was about to see. He knew that Clover was badly injured, that she was lying in a medically induced coma due to swelling in her brain. But he had to see her, had to make amends for what he had done.

He pushed open the door and stepped into the room, his heart breaking at the sight before him. There, lying in the hospital bed, hooked up to beeping machines and tubes, was Clover. Her face was pale, her lips slightly parted, and her chest rose and fell with the steady thump of the respirator.

Brennan felt a lump form in his throat as he approached her bedside, setting her shirt down on the chair by the bed. He moved closer, taking in the deep bruises on her forehead and the casts on her arms. She looked so small and fragile, so unlike the bright, vivacious woman he had known.

Brennan spoke softly, his voice trembling slightly. He reached for her hand, gently taking her in his own. "Hey Clove," he repeated, his fingers brushing over her knuckles.

Brennan reached for the shirt he had brought with him, picking it up and holding it up for her to see. "I brought you your favorite shirt," he said, his voice shaky. "I thought you might want it."

He laid the shirt down on the bed next to her, smoothing out the fabric with his hand. He looked at her face, hoping for some sort of response, but there was none. She lay still and quiet, her eyes closed in the deep sleep of the coma.

Brennan looked at Clover's face, her eyes closed and her body still. He felt a wave of sadness wash over him as he saw the tubes and machines connected to her, a stark reminder of the severity of her injuries.

He reached out and gently stroked her hair, the familiar silky texture now damp and messy from days without care. His heart ached as he took in her pale complexion and the deep bruises on her forehead. She looked so fragile, so painfully vulnerable.

He took her hand in his again, holding it tightly as if to offer her some comfort. But he knew that she couldn't feel anything, that she was unconscious and unaware of his presence.

He felt tears begin to well up in his eyes as he looked at her, his heart breaking at the sight of her like this. It wasn't fair, he thought. She deserved so much better than this.

He can barley stand to look at her hooked up to all the machines, tubes and wires keeping her alive. He takes a deep breath, pulling out the note from his back pocket and opening it up. He flips it around taking a deep breath, trying to steady himself, and starts to speak the words he had written down.

"Clover," he begins, his voice soft and shaky. "I don't know if you can hear me, but I have to say this. I have to get it off my chest."

He squeezes her hand gently, his thumb tracing circles over her cold skin. "I've been a fool, Clover. Such a damn fool. I thought I could bury my feelings for you, pretend they didn't exist, but I was wrong. So damn wrong."

He takes another deep breath, feeling the lump in his throat grow larger. "I've tried to deny it, to push it down and ignore it, but it just keeps coming back. Stronger and stronger until I cant ignore it anymore. I'm in love with you, Clover. So damn in love with you."

His voice is thick with emotion, tears spilling down his face. "I don't know how it happened, or when it happened, but it did. And I tried to fight it, I tried to convince myself that I didn't love you, but I was lying. To myself, and to you. I was lying."

He looks at her unconscious form, imagining her sparking eyes and warm smile. "I miss you so much Clover. I miss hearing your voice, seeing your face, feeling your touch. I miss fighting with you, making up with you, just being with you..."

"I never realized how lonely I was before you came into my life. How empty and meaningless my days were. You brought light and color into my world, and I didn't even appreciate it. I took it for granted and I'm so damn sorry for that."

He wipes his eyes, the tears continuing to fall down his face faster and faster. "I don't know if you can hear me, but I need you to know how much I love you, how much you mean to me. And I need you to come back to me. I need you to wake up and look at me with those sparkling eyes of yours."

He leans forward, resting his forehead against her hand. "Please, baby. Wake up. Wake up and come back to me. I'll do any thing, I'll give anything, just please- please come back to me."

Brennan's voice broke on the last words, his tears flowing freely now. He pressed his forehead against her hand, desperately willing her to wake up and look at him.

Brennan's mind was a whirlwind of regret and self-blame. He sat by Clover's bedside, holding her hand tightly in his own, as the weight of his decisions bore down on him.

"How could I have been so stupid?" he thought, his forehead still resting against her hand. "How could I have been such a fool to believe my father's words over my own feelings?"

He remembered the way we had ended things, how he had coldly broken her heart and walked away. At the time, he had thought that was what was best for both of them. Now, looking at her lying unconscious

As Brennan continued to sit by Clover's bedside, lost in his thoughts and emotions, a nurse quietly entered the room. "I'm afraid visiting hours are over," she said gently. "You'll have to leave for the night."

Brennan looked up, his heart sinking at the words. He didn't want to leave her, didn't want to be separated from her again.

"Can't I stay just a little longer?" he pleaded, his voice desperate.

The nurse shook her head regretfully. "I'm sorry, sir," she said. "But visiting hours are strictly enforced. You'll have to come back tomorrow."

"I have to go now, but ill always love you my lucky flower."

Brennan slowly stands up, his movements reluctant and slow. He reaches down and kisses her forehead, his lips lingering on her cool skin for a moment.

"I have to go now," he whispers, his voice heavy with sorrow. "But I will always love you, my lucky flower."

Even though the nurse said he could visit again tomorrow, Brennan never returned.